


Due Cause

by FortinbrasFTW



Series: DueCause!Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Consent is Sexy, Fun, Law Firm AU, Lawyers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 93,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"This wasn't right. Things like this didn't happen to people. First days were full of training documents and get-to-know-you chats and friendly talks with pleasant secretaries, not super-lawyers in disguise with molesting eye contact assaulting you in elevators. This really </i>really<i> wasn't how this was supposed to go... Maybe it wasn't how it was going. Maybe none of it was really happening to him and in a few minutes they would leave the room and all of this would go away and he'd have his normal, average first day exactly the way he'd wanted it."</i></p><p>Sam gets his first job at the law firm of his dreams, which just happens to be the workplace of his law-school idol, who in real life is a good deal more cynical and a great deal more creepy than he might have imagined. Also: Cas runs a snack cart. Also: Dean helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [HERE](http://8tracks.com/fortinbrasftw/due-cause)  
> Graphic: [HERE](http://fortinbrasftw.tumblr.com/post/47079305930/d-u-e-c-a-u-s-e-a-supernatural-lawyer-au-read)
> 
> This story did not have a BETA so I apologize for the spelling and grammer errors, I am awful at editing myself.

It took three tries to get the bike through the double glass doors but he managed it in the end, all the while trying to ignore the way half the lobby was staring at him as if he were some loose raccoon- and yeah, okay, sure, it wouldn't have been so hard if he were say five inches shorter and the bike was scaled accordingly, but still, it wasn't _that_ much of a spectacle.

Sam stepped into the airy lobby, running and hand through his hair because, fine maybe he had flailed just a little bit and it might be out of order. Luckily, it was one of the few things (maybe the only thing) that seemed to always sort itself out in his life and it flopped back into place easily. His mom had asked him three times in the past week to cut it before today, but no, sorry- anyways he'd gotten the job fine already, the hard part was over. And sure, maybe his first day at the job he'd worked towards for the past six years of his life wasn't going perfectly so far, but what ever did? It might have been easier if he hadn't woken up to Metallica playing four notches louder than he knew his stereo even went and gotten his hand half stuck to a kitchen counter still smeared with maple syrup after waiting a good half an hour to use the shower.

He'd gone years without that kind of thing, blessed, reverent years. None of his roommates had even come close to the pure destructive force Dean could inflict on a kitchen, but despite the milk left out on the counter, the boxer shorts on the bathroom floor, and the toothpaste cap Sam was sure was now certainly lost or better left undiscovered, he was happy Dean was there. 

He'd gotten the call a week ago: "Dammit Sammy- I'm outside, open the door."

What with the call itself and the fact that it was three in the morning Sam's interest was already piqued, but by the time he managed to get out of bed and make it down the close winding three flights of stairs in the brownstone he'd managed to get a place in, he was starting to draw his own conclusions. And then when he saw the bags. Well... 

Four beers later most of it was clear, or at least as much of it as Dean was going to make clear. Sam had learned from a black eye at sixteen not to push him on the whole _sharing_ thing.

It had been another fight with Dad, from the sound of things the last fight with Dad, and that territory was plenty familiar. Sam still had a little scar on his cheek from the glass that had flown in the wake of the beer bottle shattering on the coffee table, and judging by Dean's black eye things had gone just as well between them. 

Seemed like it had been something small, and then something a little bigger. Sam got that it was something about the garage- something that had started out as business and turned into something else altogether. Drinking had been involved (it always was, even since the divorce). One mistake turned into twenty and words came out at just the right time to not be brushed off and ignored, but heard, really heard, sharp and mean and as good as the old man could get, and it seemed that enough was enough and there was Dean, standing under the light above the front door, same old leather jacket, same old duffle bag over his shoulder, same old environmentally disastrous old beater double parked out front. 

He hadn't talked much those first couple of days (except to complain that Boston was "cold as ever-loving fuck" and that most of the dudes looked like they were ready to beat someone's ass over an scantly salted pretzel). Well, he hadn't _really_ talked unless they were half a bottle of Jack down and climbing, but Sam was used to that and eventually the emotional hangover seemed to loosen and the blasting music wasn't quite as full of seeping rage and the pancakes started to materialize amidst sticky counter tops and strong coffee.

He'd actually managed to get up early enough to wish him luck on for Sam's first day, somehow sounding both unimpressed and beyond proud all at once in a way that was just pure Dean. And now here Sam was, being stared at by receptionists like he was an escaped convict as he picked up his three-speed and hefted it over the couple of steps between the doorway and the front desk where a rather bored looking twenty-something brunette was tapping away at her keyboard, under the bold, sternly classical golden lettering staring down from the secured position against the white marble wall: "Pater, Filius & Umbra".

"Hi!" He said, trying out his best first-day-friendly smile as he approached the desk.

"Yes- what--"

She looked up sharply, clearly fully prepared to be annoyed but her eyes kinda swelled when she saw him and a little smiled seemed to take the edges of her lips by surprise.

"Oh." She managed, the intruding smile's territory spreading as she looked down and then up. He was used to that particular look, it was the _"really? they come that tall?"_ look.

"Yes?" She asked, voice melting into something pleasant as she leaned on her hand a bit, "Can I help you?"

"Sam-" He began, reaching out to shake her hand with the fingers that weren't still holding the bike up by his shoulder, "Sam Winchester, I'm starting today."

"I see," She said, smile now using teeth to gain the upper ground, "Let me just see if you're in the system,"

Her eyes didn't seem totally on board with the decision to turn back to the computer, but she tapped at the keys quickly and efficiantly and--

"Yes, I see, you're right here. Sam Winchester." She said, taking a few extra seconds with the name.

Sam adjusted the bike on his shoulder, "Great! Is there some place I can put this?"

"Oh," She said, a little startled, as if she was just noticing the giant bicycle, "Well, umm… no one usually, that is-- people don't usually bike here…"

"Really?" Sam said, not attempting to hide the genuine surprise, "But it's… come on, there must be other people who bike."

"The partners and associates usually drive, there's the lot in the basement levels--"

"Yeah, but really?" Sam continued, "I mean it's a city, I can't be the only one who doesn't drive."

"No but…" The girl seemed thoroughly uncomfortable now, glancing around like they were in over the east German border or something, "It's just--" She leaned a little closer, "Mr. Zachariah doesn't like it, he says--"

"Nice bike." Came a smooth voice.

"Thanks--" Sam said, hardly turning around to see who was talking to him, focusing back on the girl and her attempts to explain the frankly irresponsible commuting policies, "But look--"

"Three speed?" The voice sounded again, enthusiastic but in a rather bizarrely casual way.

"Yeah--" Sam said, again without turning, "See, I'm just--"

And then he saw her face.

She wasn't looking at him any longer, but she was certainly looking, staring really, eyes big and round and wide and she had gone sort of pale and the smile he'd manage to cultivate had snapped away like some hard frost had hit her- in fact she really did look completely frozen in fear, just staring: staring over his shoulder. 

Sam carefully followed her look and turned around, instantly and phenomenally underwhelmed. 

It was a guy. Just some guy. He had the kind of casual entitled expression on his face that Sam had seen Dean hit people for when he'd had too many. 

He was smiling back at Sam in a pleasant, easy manner. He was shorter than he was- okay, yeah, most people were, and realistically he was almost tall, and normal. Blonde. Squarish face. Normal.

Did he even work there? He was suddenly skeptical. Sam had worn the new suit his mom had come into town particularly to help him pick out because it was a reputable law firm after all, but this guy… He had a suit jacket, but then just some average jeans and under the jacket a pretty standard green t-shirt. No briefcase- no bag. Nothing.

The stranger moved his pale blue eyes from the bike to Sam's face and well, maybe he wasn’t totally normal.

There was something there. Something sharp. Really sharp.

He smiled in a weird way that seemed careful and easy all at once, tilted his head a little and stared at him like he was something strange and just interesting enough to spend attention on.

“Hi.”

“Yeah, hey,” Sam said back.

“Problem?” He asked, still staring at Sam in that weird way, but quite apparently speaking to the girl behind him.

She didn’t seem capable of answering.

“I was just looking for a place to keep my bike,” Sam picked up, “She was telling me people don’t bike here...”

The man’s face hardly moved. Still staring. Still _weirdly_ smiling.

“It’s fine.” He said.

Sam furrowed his heavy brow, “But she said--”

“It’s fine.” The man repeated. He took one step closer, hands easily slipped into his pockets, “Isn’t it Julia?”

“I--” A small voice echoed behind them, “I didn’t know, I--”

And then the stare pulled away from his and Sam felt himself breath out sharply, which was strange because he hadn’t been holding his breathe. Had he?

The man clapped a hand against Sam’s shoulder in a vagrantly familiar way as he smiled at the receptionist, teeth and all.

“Apparently not,” He said and squeezed Sam’s shoulder a bit, as if suddenly touching him for no reason whatsoever wasn’t quite enough awkward physical contact, “Come on, you can keep it with the messengers'.”

“Oh--” Sam started, “Alright, if you’re sure that’s okay with everyone,” He was already being directed away from the desk towards the other end of the lobby. He glanced over his shoulder quickly back towards the girl who was still staring after them, looking as if she had just seen some horrible car accident. In fact she wasn’t the only one, the girl next to her was staring at them with the same face as well, and the suited man she had been helping, and the woman behind him and... everyone. Every single person in the lobby was staring. 

Jesus... did these people really have such an issue with sustainable commuting? Or him? Or what? Maybe this Mr. Zachariah experienced some kind of childhood trauma--

“Don’t mind them.” The calm voice said easily next to him, as he thankfully pulled his hand back to his own side, “They just aren’t use to progressive thinking.”

It was a weird voice too. Sam was starting to think most things about this guy were a little off. It was quiet, gentle, but felt strong all the same, almost like promised strength. He was too familiar with that feeling, the feeling of a voice you really really did not want to yell and was almost scary because you knew that if it ever did... well that might be the least of your problems.

“Do you work here?” Sam asked suddenly.

The man glanced at him in the sideways manner, “Do I look like I work here?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “Well, no.”

The man raised his eyebrows quickly as if he was offended but Sam got a tingling sense he’d honed after years with bratty trust funders that he was being mocked.

“But," Sam continued, "You apparently know where the messengers keep their bikes so...” 

“Can see why they snatched you up.” The man said, “Here we go.”

He stopped dead in front of a door Sam hadn’t even noticed they were approaching, and hardly had time to look at before his bizarre companion pressed the tip of his index finger into the scanner on the lock and the thing clicked open.

“Hm.” The man said, as if he could be surprised.

Sam stared.

The man pushed the door open almost gracefully with his fingertips and stepped into the dark, lights shuddering into automatic life. A few messenger bikes were set up in a rack off to one side. There was plenty of room but...

“Um--” Sam started, awkwardly lingering by the door, “Are you sure this alright? I mean I can figure something out, it’s my first day and I don’t want to--”

“It’s fine.” The man said. He said it like it was. Like because he said so it was. Which was strangely authoritative and confident for a man who seemed for all purposes to be breaking into a bike storage room.

But it worked all the same.

“Okay.” Sam heard himself saying, slipping the bicycle off his shoulder.

“Tired?” The man asked, tilting his head again a little and staring at Sam’s arms as he maneuvered the bike into the rack.

“No,” Sam said.

“Mmm.” For a noise like that it came a little too easily and a little too loud in the close space.

Sam cleared his throat.

When he stood up the man was already holding the door open for him to exit again so he did.

He was followed out and made as if to turn for the elevators but then stopped suddenly, “Oh, I didn’t ask her... I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

“Twenty-third floor.” The man said, still walking towards the elevators and Sam found himself following him.

“How do you--?”

“You said you were new. You’ve got a tie, and a brief case- not nervous enough for a paralegal. Certainly not a partner- not with that eager, hopeful look. Associate. New. Twenty-third.”

The elevator dinged. Sam hadn’t even seen him push the button. 

He nodded his head slightly as he looked at Sam and smiled as if to gesture him inside. Sam shut his mouth and stepped in. The man followed him, waited, and watched easily as Sam reached out after a moment and pressed the little round “23” that lit up with a responsive warm glow.

The doors shut.

“Are you--?” Sam began, keeping his hand over the buttons.

“Oh that will do.” His companion said, leaning against the wall, shoulder slouching up in a rather feline way.

The elevator began to move. Sam had the strong sensation that the man was looking at him still- not really staring, just sort of looking, like he wasn’t exactly fascinating but certainly interesting. And he was apparently more practiced at awkward silence because by the time the lift’s little “5” lit up Sam’s body seemed to be taking actions on it’s own.

He turned and faced him. Yup. Watching. Definitely watching.

Sam stuck his hand out in a sharp determined-to-slice-the-awkward sort of way.

“I’m Sam.” He said.

The man stared at his face and then slowly let his eyes drift down to the outstretched hand. He reached out in the same slow graceful way he had pushed the door open and took it.

“I’m Lucifer.”

Sam snorted out a laugh.

The man didn’t flinch.

“That’s good,” Sam said, a little weirded out by how wooden his own smile had suddenly gone.

“Is it?” The man asked, raising his eyebrows just half an inch.

He was still holding his hand. Sam tried to ignore it. His fingers were tightening a bit. He ignored that too.

“That’s your name?” He asked carefully.

“I believe I said it was.”

“But... _Lucifer?_ ”

The man shrugged, “It’s Italian.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, staring at this guy who looked like his ancestors might have raised elk and invented obnoxious colored sweaters for lack of better things to do in Scandinavian darkness.

“Oh.” Sam said.

He was still holding his hand. 

Sam looked down at their fingers, “Um--”

The man dropped his hand smoothly and lifted himself off the wall.

Sam almost let himself feel relieved until the man took a step forward, and then another. He was closer now. Stupid close. Socially thoughtless close. It had happened quickly and somehow Sam didn’t feel right backing away- well, that and the fact that he would run into the other wall before he could take two steps.

The man made a soft sound and Sam realized he was... sniffing?

“Mmm.” He said. Again.

He looked up at Sam simply, as if they were not standing an utterly uncomfortable mere inches away from each other. When he spoke he voice was lower, quieter.

“Lilac?”

Sam was stuck. He didn't know what to do. He hadn’t taken the class on “strange men invading your personal space and then looking at you like _you're_ a bit crazy”. He hand't thought thing like this even happened to people- things of this entirely unprecedented level of strange.

“Urmh--” He managed.

The face below his with the slicing eyes tilted slightly.

“Your conditioner. Lilac?”

Sam was seriously considering retreating as far away as he could, even if it meant cowering in the corner of the confined space, but in that exact moment found he was suddenly terrified that if he tried this total stranger would snatch his arms and stop him and it was weird and stupid but now he was almost sweating and his neck was all hot and the calm face was even closer and--

_“Ding.”_

The doors slid open smoothly.

Sam fell out of the elevator all at once, stumbling away in all his gangly grace and almost falling, spinning to catch himself again and then trying to recover as reasonably as possible under the sudden attention of about ten suited gazes.

He swallowed and stood up straight and tried to look calm as he glanced around back over his shoulder.

He was gone.

Sam stared. He suddenly felt a very strong urge to take a shower and knew in that moment he was throwing away that condition the second he got home.

“Sam!”

He spun and instantly his vision was bombarded with a glib smile, grey suit, and no doubt an equally expensive haircut.

“There you are,” The charming accent continued, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“Am I on the right floor?” Sam asked, just managing to pull his mind back into line.

“Yes, of course,” Balthazar smiled at him in an amused fashion, “Were you planning on being somewhere else?”

He seemed pleased to see him if in a rather bored way but Sam had gotten the impression during the interview that was just how Balthazar was with most things. It was his sharp English accent that had left the treasured message on Sam's phone, the message he had celebrated for a week and was sure would change his life. He’d gotten the job. He was at the job. This was a good day. Socially inept elevator pervs aside...

“No,” Sam said, getting the hang of words now, “No, of course not. Hi!” He stuck his hand out and the man shook it firmly.

“Yes, hello. Now come along, staff meeting.”

“What? But I haven’t even--” Balthazar was already half way down the hall and Sam had to take a few steps to catch up.

“Later.” Balthazar said simply.

“But--” Sam tried but it was too late, Balthazar turned a corner, pushed a glass door open and the gentle hum of voices clustered in around them as they squeezed between the fifty or so people filling the conference room. 

Sam managed to fit in well enough as Balthazar sighed at his side and checked his watch sharply. Being as Dean put it “so tall god’s spit hits you first” was good for some things- and Sam took a chance to glance around at his new colleagues.

There really weren’t as many people in the room as he’d first thought, there were some milling about the back with him looking pretty much like everyone he went to school with, only slightly more stressed and a good deal better dressed. Balthazar was chatting closely with some red haired woman next to them, she glanced at Sam and smiled in a kind way, even if her eyes seemed nervous.

The table in the middle of the room appeared to have been claimed first, and judging by the ease with which the occupants sat there hadn't been much debate in the matter.

At the head of the table a man was standing in front of his chair, sternly ordering some papers in front of him and staring down at them as if they were personally offensive. His whole attitude made it seem like underneath his suit were marble limbs, flexible only at the joints and only in the most limited way possible.

The whole image of rigidity was perhaps only so vivid when compared to the human pile of ooze thrown over the seat to the right. The sloth in question had one leg thrown up on the table, another crossed over it up in his lap. If his chair leaned any further backwards, Sam was positive he would be on the floor, but he didn’t seem like he would care one bit. His hands were folded behind his head and he wasn’t... smoking? No- Sam realized as the slouch rolled the thing against his tongue: a lollipop. He was actually sucking a lollipop. Perhaps he was quitting smoking- oral fixations, or whatever they said, and even though Sam had always hated those stupid Freudian lectures at school, the look of desperately preserved adolescence that virtually dripped off of the guy... well, maybe not even Freud couldn't be wrong about completely everything.

Across from him sat a man with the kind of face you usually saw staring out of investment banking advertisements: bald, non-threatening, slightly smug- as if he'd earned something, deserved it, and you could get there too if you just placed most of your savings between his idly twiddling fingers. He reminded Sam of an business law professor he'd had in his third year who spoke in one endless train and winked at the first-years, in love with the sound of his own obvious brilliance and daring you to try and think otherwise.

"That's enough." said the marble man at the front, in the most seeking-the-death-penalty-for-the-betterment-of-human-society voice Sam had ever heard.

Silence snapped into the room, leaving only sound of a lollipop clicking against what Sam guessed must be long-suffering teeth.

The man at the front raised his head, dark eyes sweeping in one steady path along the faces filling the room.

"If we are ready to proceed..." 

No one seemed to have any argument. Sam glanced over towards Balthazar, almost half hoping he was going to get a bit more in terms of first day training, but the brit was still muttering something quietly to the pretty redhead next to him.

"I'm sure most of you are wondering why this meeting is taking place a few days earlier than is usual," the man at the front continued.

"You know I'm supposed to be meeting with the SucroCorp board right this minute--" the bald man snapped impatiently.

"I am aware Zachariah, I'm sure we have all had schedules interrupted." the stony voice answered.

Zachariah. The bizarro bike policy made slightly more sense now.

"Don't worry," the lolling man across from him smiled, removing the lollipop as he spoke and spinning it between fingers, "No one could ever replace you, starlight."

"As I was saying," the master of ceremonies continued sternly, "This meeting has arrived at an inconvenient time, but matters have arisen that require this firm's full and immediate attention."

Zachariah huffed as if he didn't quite think it was possible for an imminent meteor to override his previous schedule.

"Stop being such a tease, Raphael- you'll spoil the children," the walking-oral-fixation said with a click of his tongue and a head bob towards the uncomfortably milling staff behind them. 

The man at the front ignored him with what seemed like ancient practice, "We are joined today by a returning senior partner of Pater, Fillius, and Umbra."

The room rippled suddenly with excited small whispers and Sam glanced around to try and catch some of it but Balthazar and the girl were muttering quickly and closely and he couldn't hear a word.

"What?" Zachariah suddenly snapped, "Michael's not supposed to get back from L.A. for another week."

"I'm not talking about Michael." Raphael said.

The sweet-tooth across the table suddenly stopped twirling his lollipop. Sam felt a stillness beside him and glanced over. Balthazar and the woman next to him were no longer muttering, they were staring, suddenly intently focused on what was taking place. What ever it was Zachariah didn't seem to notice.

"Well, who the hell else would we be talking about?" he asked peevishly.

"Me." said a quiet voice. A newly familiar voice. A voice that felt only inches away from Sam's ear.

Sam jumped so hard that he almost crashed into Balthazar but the man caught him sideways and pushed him back upright. Sam tried to get his breathing back but it was a little hard staring at someone he had really _really_ hoped he wouldn't see again. Someone who had apparently been standing directly behind him this entire time…. someone who he realized suddenly everyone in the room was staring at with as much livid surprise as he was as the man walked easily towards the front of the room with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Bloody hell," he heard Balthazar mutter next to him.

Sam glanced down at him, "Who is that? Does he work here?"

He didn't get an answer.

The man stopped half way up the table, directly above Zachariah and stared down. All the color had flooded out of the bald man's face and he was looking up at the newcomer like those Nazis had stared into that box at the end of Raiders- that was after the greedy wonder had quite literally melted right off.

"No," Zachariah managed eloquently, "You… you're not--"

The man reached inside his suit jacket and took out a small orange pill bottle, snapping off the cap easily and shaking out a few round blue tablets. He tossed them back.

"How those workin' out for you?" the candy-man asked from across the table.

"Just like mom used to make," he smiled back. 

"No--" Zachariah continued, apparently starting to remember how words worked, "He's not-- he can't be here!"

"He has completed his program," Raphael droned, "And we have received proper notifications from the staff that he is fully capable of returning to the firm, and given the keenly noticed clause in the senior partnership termination conditions--"

"Section five, sub clause F--" The man muttered, leaning back on his heels casually with a quiet smile.

Raphael looked at him quickly and then continued, "Since he has met the terms required, he may resume his responsibilities at Pater, Fillius, and Umbra."

"Post-haste." the man finished smoothly.

Sam leaned over slightly, "What's happening?" he whispered.

"Shh!" Balthazar scolded back, eyes tight on the scene in front of them. 

"So, you're back?" The sloucher asked with an eyebrow cocked.

"It would certainly seem so," the newcomer answered.

"No heads up? They don't have phones there?"

The man smiled, "They're not encouraged."

"I am aware there must be some confusion," Raphael said in a slightly louder voice, speaking to the room at large, "For those of you have not been with us for some time, and are unfamiliar with these circumstances, allow me to present: Nick Lucius."

"Fuck me." Sam swore.

He only realized he'd actually let the obscenities spill out when several people turned to stare at him accusingly but by then his hand was already over his mouth in an attempt to compose himself.

No. He must have heard wrong. No way. No way in hell.

_Nick Lucius!?_

"So…" Zachariah said weakly, "You're… back?"

"I know," Nick said sympathetically, "It is all very confusing."

"You won't be..." Zachariah's mouth squirmed up into a confused line, "Taking clients…?"

Nick stuck his lip out slightly and cocked his head to stare down at the table, specifically at the spot right in front of Zachariah, specifically at the manilla folder sitting on the spot right in front of Zachariah. He reached out gracefully, the bald man staring at his finger as if it was loaded until it landed squarely on his folder and slid it across the glass top with a small squeak until it was in directly in front of himself.

"SucroCorp…" He read slowly, "Sounds… hearty."

He snapped the folder up quickly, "I'll take it."

Zachariah stared at him as if he wanted to break his knee and hide under the table and cry all at once.

"That's fine." Raphael said, voice sounding slightly more impatient than it had moments ago, "They have been requesting a senior partner's attentions for the past month."

Zarchariah looked as if the hide-and-sob option was getting more and more appealing.

"I want co-council." Nick said, drumming his fingers on the folder.

"Of course," Raphael said, "There's Rachael, and Virgil is available--"

"I'll take Sexy."

Raphael's head snapped up, "Excuse me?"

"I'll take Sammy."

There was a choking sound as the lounger seemed to have swallowed a chunk of sugar the wrong way.

Sam hardly heard it.

"I'm not familiar with a… Sammy." Raphael answered smoothly.

"He's new." Nick smiled.

Sam didn't know what to do, he looked down towards Balthazar for help but both he and the red haired girl were staring at him in a way that made him regret that decision.

This wasn't right. Things like this didn't happen to people. First days were full of training documents and get-to-know you chats and friendly talks with secretaries, not super-lawyers in disguise with molesting eye contact assaulting you in elevators. This really _really_ wasn't how this was supposed to go. Maybe it wasn't how it was going. Maybe none of it was really happening to him and in a few minutes they would leave the room and all of this would go away and he'd have his normal, average first day exactly the way he'd wanted it.

"What do you think, Sammy?" The smooth voice sounded.

Sam's attention shot up, he was looking at him. Right at him. Along with everyone else.

"Want to straddle up?"

His mouth was still half hanging open, he was still staring, he was still _gawking_. And everyone, _everyone_ was watching him now, half of them looking as terrified and confused as he felt, but no one else's cheeks were about fifty degrees hotter than they should have been, which was just stupid because he said saddle up, _saddle up_ , and he was just a lawyer, just an amazing lawyer, a senior partner, asking for help. For _his_ help.

"Yeah," Sam said swallowing hard and forcing a smile, "Yeah, sure, of course. Happy to help."

Nick winked back, slow and easy. Winked. Jesus...

Sam looked away and blinked, trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

"Well, if that's everything--" Raphael concluded, "I believe we can all return to business."

The room seemed to burst around the edges. The staff flew out of the doors, whispers and mutters reaching a near chaotic volume as the suited figures fell into rushing groups, talking back and forth faster than Sam's stunned brain could possibly follow. 

Balathazar was suddenly surrounded by questioning voices and he was looking at Sam as if he planned to murder him. The red haired girl was shaking her head and biting at one nail as she glanced around wildly. Zachariah sat where he had been left, staring down at the blank table in front of him.

Nick was gone.

And suddenly Sam was alone, well alone except for the crowds of people staring at him and muttering in a way that was getting almost close to shouting--

"Hey," A voice sounded to his left. 

He turned. Nothing.

A throat cleared.

Sam looked down.

"Oh, uh- hi."

"Yeah," The man answered, staring up at him with the lollipop stick poking out of his lips, "Look, I'm getting you a coffee. Alright?"

This was officially the most he had been hit on in the past year. What was happening? He was _definitely_ throwing that conditioner away...

"Look man, I'm not--"

"Oh sweet, Mary," the short guy sighed dramatically, "Don't let it go to your head already. Coffee. _Coffee_. I don't want to butter your buns in the supply closet or anything."

Sam hardly had time to even try to deal with that metaphor before the man was striding out of the room. Sam took one last look at the conference room, saw Zachariah starting to stand up with fury rolling of of him in waves, and decided that maybe coffee wasn't such a bad idea.

He caught up to the man's lazy pace in two steps.

"So," The man said without turning, "I take it Sexy is your christian name,"

"It's Sam," 

The man turned just enough to give him a pitying look.

"Gabe," He said turning back.

"What?"

"Me: Gabe. You: Sam."

"Oh, yeah, right--"

'Gabe' turned a corner sharply and pushed open the first door, sliding into a wide open corner office that looked out massive glass windows across the park and into the distance. It's owner turned around the corners of the massive glass desk and plopped down into the chair behind it. Sam couldn't help but notice that the desk was _covered_ in candy. There was a bag of M &Ms spilled out behind the keyboard, a glass jar full of tootsie pops (with the top most definitely shut, not open and welcoming like candy on a receptionist's desk). There were little silver bits of tinfoil across the table that Sam guessed had come from chocolate wrappers, and right across the front under his name plate was one of those massive comically multicolored lollys, like something munchkins from the Wizard of Oz would tote around. Sam almost smiled, because it had to be there just for show… at least he hoped so. 

"What?" Gabe asked staring up at him, gesturing to the seat opposite, "Too tall to fit in the chair?"

"I--" Sam started, "I thought you said we were getting coffee?"

"It will be around in--" he checked the clock on the desk- not a watch man, Sam thought, most definitely not a watch man, "Exactly two minutes and fifty six seconds."

"Really?" Sam said.

"Trust me," Gabe answered, with what might have been a roll of his eyes.

He leaned back in his chair and locked a foot between him and the desk, staring at Sam with skeptical evaluation, but thankfully his attention didn't feel so penetrating Sam had the urge for a shower afterwards.

Sam actually managed to get his first good look at the man opposite of him as he sat. He was lazily wearing a well made navy suit with what Sam swore were little pink pinstripes. His tie was close enough to see now as well- at first it had just seemed a standard issue embroidered silk, but what easily could have been mistaken for little horses or something else perfectly normal, he now saw that the little white shapes were in fact sensually posed women.

"So… Sam?"

"That's right," Sam said, attempting a smile and a general recovery of this day, "Sam Winchester."

The man pointed at his name plate sitting behind the lollipop.

Sam looked at it, not failing to notice the 'Senior Partner' underwriting.

"Gabriel…" The man read, staring at him.

Sam nodded carefully, "Mhmm…"

"Gabriel Lucius."

"Yes…?" Sam squinted.

The man opposite wilted just slightly around the shoulders but passed it off easily with raised eyebrows and that same obnoxious smile.

"Most people recognize it is all, not that it's a big deal or anything--"

"Oh!" Sam realized, trying to make up lost ground, "It's not- I went to school out west, so I'm not as familiar with the practices here."

Gabriel nodded carefully, "Mmm… buuuut you know him."

"Who?"

Gabriel gave him _that_ look again.

Sam sighed and decided careful decisions might be something he could manage on his second day.

"Look," He said, "To be perfectly honest I hardly have any idea what's going on here. It's my first day, Balthazar hired me a little over a week ago- I show up today, there's some guy terrifying the receptionists and telling me to stow my bike in a back room and then he walks into some staff meeting and wants me to co-council and now you're telling me he's Nick Lucius- _the_ Nick Lucius, and I just don't even know what's happening anymore--"

" _The_ Nick Lucius," Gabriel said with a snort, muttering to one side, waving his hands in the air sarcastically; "Don't know me but he gets a _'the'--_ "

"It can't seriously be him?" Sam said suddenly, just having to know for certain, " _Nick Lucius_ attorney for the Adams' case- the _supreme_ court Adams' case, Nick Lucius of the 'free will' defense argument? The dead split - the argument that swayed infamously conservative Justice Mortimer into writing the majority opinion?"

Gabriel eyed him, "If I open up that briefcase I'm not going to find some composition book with his name written in pink felt tip all over the inside cover am I?"

Sam blushed and squeezed the case a little tighter to his chest, "No..."

He _would_ find a copy of the closing remarks from that exact case, highlighted and labeled. It was something he'd started carrying around with him at school after he began on his dissertation and had never really stopped. It just didn't quite feel right to leave for the day without it…

But now it felt strange somehow. The voice that had spoken those words in his head for years, put forth those arguments, and humanized something so clearly and so perfectly that the justice system itself was pulled into question- that voice had been animated and enthusiastic, bold and brave, not the smooth gliding tones sounding altogether too penetrating and certainly a good deal too close to be properly considered comfortable.

The image he had crafted in his mind for years of the lawyer who (he would be lying if he denied it) had become one of his heroes was suddenly trying to force itself into the shape of an average blonde man with too sharp eyes cornering him in an elevator and he tried to stop that course of action before his brain combusted and leaked out his ears.

"--It can't really be him…" Sam managed, staring down into the swirling colors of the obscene lollipop lying on the desk.

Gabriel smiled slightly, "Ah, don't judge him too soon… he's had a rough year."

"Yeah," Sam said, looking back up, "What was that about?"

"Like I said," Gabriel continued, "Rough year."

There was a smart little knock against the glass of the door.

"Ah! Coffeeee," Gabriel sang as he sprang of his seat and across the floor, just as Sam managed to turn and look in the right direction.

Gabriel pulled open the door, "You don't have to knock Castiel, for Christ's sake."

"It is considered a professional courtesy." sounded a voice that was giving Sam sudden vivid flashbacks to his required field trip to maximum security. 

He half expected to see someone tall as himself and four times his weight shove his way through the door and started when instead there came an understated wiry dark haired man with a slight shuffle to his steps and big blue eyes that looked like they belonged to Miss America, not this rather stubbly square jawed figure who seemed to be in his early thirties, speaking with a voice that sounded like it was made to proclaim the end of worlds not "would you like cream with that?"

The newcomer pushed a little cart into the room, laden with coffee supplies, muffins, cookies, and a small espresso machine. The entire thing was freakishly organized- even the cream cups were stacked neatly to one side and Sam couldn't help but hear the guy sigh as Gabe pushed his hand in to grab three, knocking the rest down into a little pile.

"Gabriel," He muttered, "You should really let me, it is my job--"

"No way, that's still a bit too weird," Gabriel said, snatching a double chocolate muffin, "Anyways, you never put enough sugar in mine."

"My personal concern for your health prevents me from doing so," He turned and looked at Sam, as if noticing him for the first time, "Hello."

"Hey," Sam said, standing. The man tilted his head a little to one side as he took in his height and Sam was starting to wondering if it was something in the water here that made them do that or--

Oh crap. How the hell had he not even noticed?

"Lucius!" He said suddenly.

The head tilted a little further.

"Ignore him," Gabriel muttered to the dark haired barista, "He's just imagining how it would look on monogrammed towels--"

"Gabriel _Lucius_?" Sam repeated, turning to stare at the name plate.

"Is he experiencing some form of confusion?" The coffee guy asked, glancing sideways at Gabriel who just shrugged his shoulders.

"You're related?" Sam asked spinning back.

"Yes." Said both of them at once.

Sam stared, "Wait- what?"

"We _are_ related." The dark haired man said, shifting his head slightly in Gabriel's direction.

Gabriel mumbled something, spraying chocolate muffin crumbs onto the cart which the other in turn frowned at blankly.

"And you're both related to…"

"I'm going to save you some time here Sam," Gabe said, finally managing to swallow most of the muffin, "Most of the partners, Cassy here, handful of other associates: related."

"What, seriously?" Sam asked. Family firms weren't unusual, but still...

"Our father made questionable domestic decisions." Castiel said.

"You don't remember any of that over-sharing conversation we had do you?" Gabe asked him despairingly.

Sam tried to ignore it, "But, seriously, related? How?"

"Myself, Gabriel, Nicholas, and Michael are half brothers through our father, although Michael and Nicholas also share a mother- Raphael and Uriel are our second cousins, again on our father's side, while Anna and Balthazar are our first cousins, although it has been argued that he is twice removed and again connected through my mother's younger brother--"

"Okay- okay I think he gets it--" Gabriel broke in as soon as the straight faced man paused for breathe.

Sam opened his mouth to try and get a grip on this a little better but Gabriel had already turned back to his brother.

"Did you see him yet?" Gabriel asked, emptying a fourth sugar packet into his coffee.

"Yes," Castiel grumbled, "He found me this morning. It was… uncomfortable."

Gabriel snorted as if he thought that was the understatement of the year, "He didn't tell you he was coming?"

"No. He did not. I do not believe he informed anyone of his return, and if I were you I would be ensured of the legitimacy of his approval documentation."

"Yeah, pretty sure that's been taken care of already."

"Umm--" Sam started, unsure if he was still supposed to be in the room.

"You look like fresh hell--" Gabriel continued to his brother as he took another massive bite out of the muffin.

"I will admit to being slightly more fatigued than is usual."

Sam got the impression that Castiel was the sort of person who always looked somewhat exhausted but nevertheless…

"You should go home, give that bed-head a reason to be there."

"No," He said, as if suddenly realizing he had been spending more time here than he should, frantically tidying the mess his brother was making of his immaculate cart, "I have to start with the sandwiches, I hardly have enough time to prepare them properly as it is."

"Are you looking for help?" Sam heard himself say.

They turned to look at him in one motion, as if they'd forgotten he was even there at all.

"Pardon me?" the blue eyes asked.

"Sorry, I just--" Sam said, running a hand over the back of his neck, "It sounds like you could use some help.

"Know someone who looks cute in an apron?" Gabriel smiled.

Sam couldn't help laughing at image materializing in front of him and for a moment he forgot about all the other absurd things that had found their way into this morning.

"Yeah," He said, "I think I might."

\----

Sam left the office with a fresh coffee and Castiel's business card in his pocket. He pulled the thing out to look at it again. Neat black letters read across the top "Castiel Lucius" and underneath in smaller ones "purveyor of various heated caffeinated beverages and other forms of sustenance by means of a wheeled trolley" and in even smaller: "to contact press the following numbers on your mobile or immobile telephonic device…"

Sam smiled and put the card back into his pocket as he followed the swaying shape of Gabriel's secretary down the halls. 

"Here you go." She said idly, stopping in front of a fogged glass door.

"No," Sam smiled, hardly glancing at it, "I'm sorry, this is an office--"

"Yes," She said in a bored way, " _Your_ office."

"No," Sam insisted, "I mean I'm sure you know this place much better than I do, but it's my first day, I just got out of law school, I think I'm supposed to be sharing with another new associate, I really don't think--"

The woman laid her freshly manicured finger under the name cut into the glass, "So you're not 'Sam Winchester'?"

Sam stared. 

"No… that's not-- That's impossible."

"Enjoy the office," The woman smiled bluntly and turned and strode off back down the hall.

Sam stared at his name for a minute, then a minute more. He wondered if there were such things as glass-cutters on call. 

There was a small envelope taped to the outside of the door and he snatched it down and pulled it open. It was a check. He _had_ requested an advance. Moving here hadn't been as easy as they'd originally made it sound and finding a place close enough to bike had been even worse and now that Dean was consuming carbohydrates like a swarm of locus, well, hell at least there was one thing going right with today.

He pulled the thing out to get a better look at the amount.

He blinked.

He looked again. And then very quickly stuffed it into his pocket and shoved open the office door.

The office wasn't quite as expansive as Gabriel's but he still stared for a moment at the clean, elegant space, window looking out into the city, a large desk… a large desk completely covered in stacks and stacks of papers.

Sam stepped closer gingerly. There was a pink post-it stuck to the top, scrawling, elegant handwriting splayed across it.

_"Like the office?"_

Sam swallowed and pulled the thing away. There was another one under it.

_"I'll take a debriefing tomorrow (on the files)"_

Sam felt his throat was half-heartedly trying to shut on it's own by the time he pulled that one away to reveal the one under that...

_"Here's looking at you, Sammy."_

Sam stared down at the black lettering for a moment before righting himself and turning and--

The scream stopped half way up his throat.

He was standing right there. _Right. There._

Sam stumbled backwards and caught himself on the edge of the desk, knocking several folders off of it and he reached out to catch them but his big hand only knocked them aside and the papers flew free and spilled across the floor. He knelt down quickly and started scrambling to pull them back together, glancing up to make sure he wasn't going insane.

He was gone. Well, not gone, sitting through the glass wall between the offices talking on the phone with one leg tossed up on the desk. He wasn't looking at him. But he had been. He most definitely had been standing directly in front of the glass staring directly at him.

Sam shook his head and focused as hard as he possibly could on making sure each and every spilled paper made it back into the folder, ignoring the fact that his paycheck was three time what he had thought it would be, ignoring the fact that this office had apparently been picked exactly for him, ignoring the fact that it just happened to share a glass wall with _his_ office, ignoring the lingering sensation that he was some kind of zoo animal… but then again he had certainly never stared at zoo animals like that. He had a feeling people who looked at animals like that were asked to please leave the zoo right away and encouraged never to come back again. 

Sam finished pushing papers back into the folder, tapped it once on the floor, and stood up, most definitely not looking into the other office.

He pushed out his chair and sat. He leaned back a little. He leaned back a little more until finally, finally he was just out of eye-shot of the desk. He could still see a booted foot flicking back and forth slightly on the desk. He looked away. Look away to the massive stack of files looming in front of him. He picked up the first one. It looked like a health report. 

Sam sighed, ran a hand through his hair, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and carefully typed out a text:

"TO: Dean

Get beer."

Hit send, took a deep breath, and started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Nick's first meeting now has a fic from Nick's POV [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/893115)


	2. Chapter 2

Dean snapped the clutch into place as his baby eased to a halt, jolting Sam awake in the seat next to him where he'd hugged his briefcase to his chest like it was some sort of geometric teddy bear.

"Hurhg-ugh!" Sam 'said', shooting upright.

Dean let himself chuckle before shutting off the engine and climbing out of the car. 

"Jesus, Sammy, did you even sleep?" He asked as he slammed the driver's door and the sound echoed though the basement lot.

"Does passing out in the shower for five minutes before almost drowning count?" Sam asked as he stood up and shut his own door.

"You're damn lucky I made you ride with me," Dean said, "You could be some smear on a taxi right now. Great way to start your second day-"

"Couldn't possibly get weirder than the first one," Sam groaned.

"Yeah, still not getting that," Dean said, spinning the keys around his thumb as they crossed the lot towards the little glowing sign labeling the elevators at the back, "You're working with a dude you wrote freaking essays about, he wants you to help him with a case he stole from some bald asshole, and you're getting paid three times what you thought you would be. So, why aren't you swooning your pretty little school girl head off? Sounds like your dream come true."

"Well, it's not." Sam said simply.

Dean didn't push it- Sam had been in a bitchy mood since he got home last night, and okay, Dean could see how a briefcase so packed with 'homework' he could hardly lift it could do that to you, but wasn't this what he'd been wetting himself over since he was sixteen? Didn't dreams of coming back to his own place laden with paperwork and legal bullshit send him out the door in the first place with dad's "fuck you"s and "fine your not welcome"s and "ungrateful son"s ringing in his ears? 

Well, whatever, he wasn't going to let Sam's moody bullshit ruin his day. Hell, within the hour he might even have a job. He'd be lying if he said living at Sam's place, eating Sam's food, using Sam's shit and contributing exactly nothing to the whole situation hadn't made him feel a bit of a dick. The first week all that hadn't really matter much compared to the blind rage he was still trying to swallow into that dark place were he kept all that garbage. Normally things went down there a little easier, buried in the little cardboard box sealed shut with two layers of duct tape that only weakened when alcohol sopped through the corners and he ended up hitting someone or worse, almost actually talking about it. But this new nugget of crap was giving him a harder time than usual. He was trying to push it down in there, all of it: the look on dad's face, the way he'd hardly seemed to pause before hitting him, the things he'd said- _jesus…_

Nope. No way. None of that. Today was going to be great. The little cardboard box was shut up nice and tight and none of that crap was going to sneak out and ruin this. He was out of there- gone and about fucking time, and he was here now, here with Sam, and really that felt about right.

"So, you told this guy I was coming right?" Dean asked as they piled into the elevator. 

"Yes, Dean," Sam yawned as he leaned against the wall and the doors closed, "Just like I told you last night, and this morning, and ten minutes ago in the car--"

"Yeah, fine, fine," Dean interrupted.

It was silent for a moment.

"And I shouldn't have like borrowed one of your ties or--"

"It's a coffee cart, Dean, not an accounting firm." Sam turned and raised an eyebrow at him, "Are you… nervous?"

_Yes._

"No," Dean answered, crossing his arms tighter across his chest and trying to lean back, but the wall was a little further away than he'd thought and he stumbled a bit.

Sam was starting to smile in the most annoying way possible, "You are! Look at you--"

"Alright, alright, you can shut the fuck up now--"

Sam started laughing.

"That's not shutting up, Sammy--" Dean growled.

"I'm sorry," Sam chuckled, "I just don't remember the last time I saw you nervous- I think Bobby was fixing your transmission or something."

"Hey!" Dean said pointing an accusatory finger, "That was a hard day! We didn't know if she would make it--"

Sam grinned like an idiot, and glanced over his shoulder at him, "But what's the big deal?"

"Nothing!" Dean insisted, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Exactly, completely: nothing."

"Haven't you had an interview before?"

"No, actually I haven't." Dean snapped suddenly turning to him.

Sam furrowed his brow and then his smile wilted, "Oh… that's right."

Dean turned away, and yeah maybe he was pouty, but fuck maybe he deserved at least a little pout.

"Well, look- you'll do great." Sam said eventually.

"Thanks, Mom." Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his hand into his eyes.

Dean stared at him sideways, "Are you sure you're conscious enough to get me there?"

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, pretty much ruining the affect by letting out a big fat yawn half way through the sentence.

"Yeah, alright, just don't pass out in some meeting and get yourself fired," Dean said, "I don't think that would do much for my bright future serving decaf cappuccinos."

"Don't worry," Sam grumbled, "I don't think I could get fired if I wanted to."

"Well, aren't you just the golden boy."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

The doors dinged open. 

Sam lolled his way out into the hall and Dean followed.

Fuck. This place was nice. Really freaking nice. 

It looked like something right off of one of those court room dramas where everyone buys three thousand dollars suits and talks like their farts should be worshipped and bangs on glass countertops. And crap, he'd been watching too much TV again. But seriously…

"Shit, Sam," Dean muttered, "I really don't know if I can do this--"

Sam stopped and turned back to him with that stupid confused look on his face, "Problem?"

Dean move to step closer, got cut off by some suited guy walking past who pretty much _smelled_ like money, and then made it to Sam.

"Yeah, 'problem'," He muttered quickly, staring around, "This place? Seriously?"

Sam furrowed his brow even deeper, managing to look all the more goofy for his efforts, "Is… something wrong?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah: me!"

He stepped back, pulling at the corner of his worn jeans and jacket, "Dude- I've probably still got motor oil in my hair. These people have so much smoke up their asses I'm surprised the fire alarms aren't going off--"

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam snapped, "Keep your voice down--"

Dean shook his head, "Look I just don't know if this is going to work, I've already seen about three guys who are just asking to get hit in the face-- shit, here comes another one--" 

Sam spun around just as Gabriel slap and hand onto his shoulder.

"Mornin'!" He smiled, giving Dean a good once over.

Dean stared. The guy was smirking at him, smirking at him, and looking at him like he was some some suit he was deciding wether or not to buy, and goddamnit this was not a good idea--

"This the lucky lady?" The guy smarmed.

"Yeah," Sam smiled, and Dean took the chance to shoot him a look that he hoped promised future pain, "Gabe - Dean, Dean - Gabe."

The jackass was still smiling at him and staring like he was waiting for him to do something entertaining.

Dean stuck his hand out sharply, "Hey."

The bastard let it hang in the air for a moment before finally taking it and giving it one quick pump.

"Yup." He said. 

Dean dropped his hand and 'Gabe' (which was just a perfectly douchy name) turned back to Sam.

"Well, you look like crap." He said easily, "Is Nick keeping you up all night already?"

Dean almost thought he was going to wink after that, but he seemed to restrain himself.

"Yeah, I guess--" Sam said, and almost _blushed_? Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"He's been here for an hour already, you know," Gabe said casually, "Waiting."

All the blood drained out of Sam's face at once, "What?"

"Think wasting time with those kind of questions is really the best idea right now Sam?" Gabe squinted.

"Shit- shit, no, no of course, jesus, okay, _shit!_ I have to go, now. Dean, Gabe can show you where to go, okay?"

He was already turning to go, Dean hardly had time to make a half-hearted snatch at his sleeve, but Sam tugged away easily and was gone. 

Leaving him alone. Alone with the smarm. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"So," Dean said, clearing his throat.

Gabe smiled, "So, what?"

Dean gave him _a look_ before he could stop himself.

Gabe laughed and held up his hands, "Sorry! Jesus, fine, fine- Castiel will take away my muffin privileges if I keep him waiting any longer- he's probably already alphabetized the Torini syrup." Gabe finished, turning and walking down the hall.

Dean laughed a little despite himself as he followed, and Gabe looked over his shoulder quickly.

"Oh you poor thing… you think I'm kidding." He turned back with a sigh, "Well, at least this will be interesting."

Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked around as he followed the short guy down the halls. God, this was officially Weird. All around were slick wooden floors, shiny contemporary steel fixtures, fogged glass, all looking like some art house guy's apartment, with sheets that had thread counts and coconut milk in the fridge- only, you know, spread out, and full of people who he was sure had never so much as changed a tire, let alone known what it was like to legitimately have to do everything for yourself. But that wasn't totally fair, was it? Sam was here after all, but now being here, seeing it, looking at this bizzarro world that his brother was now a part of, imagining Sammy walking down these halls with suits and "cases" and coffee, chatting with these people like he belonged here… It felt weird. Definitely weird. Wrong even.

"Here we go," Gabe said, stopping suddenly and pushing open the door to what seemed to Dean to be for all intensive purposes a supply closet- that is if supply closets looked like something preserved in a museum display. It was organized. Freakish organized. Organized wasn't even the right word it was… scrupulous. Dean bet that even if he reached the the very back of the shelves there wouldn't be a speck of dust and that was just unsettling.

"Hey!" Gabe yelled into the space, "Brought you a present,"

"Just a moment!" A muffled voice called from around the one corner in the room.

Dean squinted at the general direction of a voice he had thought before this moment only came out of dubbed villains in anime porn.

"Have fun," Gabe smiled, slapping an unnecessary hand on his back and turning right back out the door.

Dean opened his mouth but nothing seemed to want to happen so he shut it again as Gabe whistled his way back down the hall.

Shuffling cardboard sounded from the unseen actions behind the corner, "I'm so sorry," came the voice again, "I just-- just one more minute."

" 'S fine, cool--" Dean called but his voice came out kinda squeaky which was just stupid and he ran a hand over the back of his neck and tried to distract himself by staring at the shelves.

There was a soft sigh of irritation around the corner, followed quickly by the sound of jostling cardboard and then with a little yelp suddenly a muffled crashing.

Dean spun around just in time to see a shower of paper coffee cups spill out onto the floor.

"Oh dear…" Said the voice, and Dean almost laughed because he might have personally gone for a different sort of expression, but nonetheless Dean was already across the ground, kneeling down, clumsily trying to gather up what had fallen.

He heard footsteps hurrying over to help but apparently a mundane task had been just what his nerves needed and he'd managed to stack all the little cups neatly back on top of each other.

"I'm so sorry--"the voice said.

"No worries, see," Dean said, standing finally, "No probl--"

...Whoa.

And okay yeah, that was so very completely gay and beyond weak and what his stomach was doing could in no way be considered fair, but really. _Really._

Whoa.

He found himself suddenly wondering if there was a third person in the room who had been speaking because this guy looked like the last person who would have a voice like that- I mean his eyes… They were blue. But not normal blue. _Disney_ blue- like they properly belonged in the head of something welcoming Bambi into the world. But then again there was something else… yeah there was an undeniable innocence to the way they peered (okay, if he was to be totally honest _stared_ ) but there was a strength there too, something that suggested if you tried to hit him he would snatch your hand before it made contact and then maybe break your arm for good measure. And okay maybe that voice wasn't so misplaced…

He was almost pale, but that might just have been how dark his hair was, dark and thick and looked kinda like he'd just gotten hair on Monday and didn't know how to wear it yet. It stuck up in strange places and that with the disarrayed nature of his clothing and the shadowy stubble over his cheeks gave him a rather anxious undertone- but he stood straight and easy, and jesus, there were too many things going on here for one human being. He was stressed but controlled, innocent but hardened, pretty and yet so, so, not, and staring. Really staring. 

"Freckles…" The voice muttered.

Yup- Dean knew for sure now, it really was his voice and dammit if that didn't just kinda pull the whole thing together into a strangely complete little package.

Wait a minute, what did he say?

Dean tried to smile, "Dude, I think it's a little early for nicknames."

The guy suddenly seemed to realize he'd actually spoken out loud and snapped his attention away quickly, blushing just enough to notice, and that was doing things to Dean's chest that it really _really_ shouldn't. 

Dean cleared his throat roughly, instinctively deepening and hardening his voice when he spoke as if that would make a difference.

"So, Castiel?"

"Yes." The man said, the voice instantly emasculating Dean's "in control" tone.

"Yes," Castiel continued, scrambling slightly, "I'm sorry about the-- I'm sorry. Hello."

He reached out a hand as if he had suddenly remember that was the correct thing to do, and Dean moved to shake it but instantly realized he was still holding the fallen coffee cups and paused, reaching for Castiel's hand with his left but in that exact moment Castiel reached to take the coffee cups with his right and they had to pause again.

"Here--" Dean said with a grunt, pushing the cups onto the closest shelf and snatching his hand with a definitive shake; "I'm Dean."

The guys' hand tightened around his responsively, "Hello, Dean." 

His name sounded good in that voice. Badass. He could get used to that.

"So," Dean said, dropping his hand, "Sammy said you were looking for some help?"

"Not exactly looking," Castiel said, picking the stacked cups back up off the shelf and walking them over towards a waste basket, "But the point was raised and I have seen the potential merits of it."

He dropped the cups neatly into the garbage and turned back to Dean.

"Would you be interested in the position?"

Dean shrugged, "I need a job- I've never made coffee really, I mean other than the crap I feed myself, so I can't promise I'll be good at it or anything--"

Ah crap, that wasn't really how you were supposed to talk in interviews was it? But those blue eyes were giving him freakishly honest impulses.

"I mean--" he tried to recover, "I'm awesome at coffee. Really, just... awesome."

The man's mouth smirked a little to one side as he glanced down in a way that was also vaugly Disney-woodland-creature.

"It's fine," He said, "I didn't know the details and varieties of caffeinated beverages at first either. It's not hard to learn."

Dean squinted a little at the fact that for something "not hard" Castiel made it sound freaking encyclopedic, but he let it slide.

"What does matter is your ability to respond to people…" His voice trailed slightly, "That area in particular is not my strong point and Gabriel has suggested I make appropriate provisions."

"No worries there," Dean smiled, "I'm certifiably charming."

Castiel's brow furrowed, "I did not know they offered courses… perhaps you could refer me?"

Dean laughed and realized quickly he was alone in it.

"It was… just joking." He smiled weakly.

"Oh. Yes..." Castiel said.

There was an Awkward Moment.

"You see the problem." Castiel said finally with another shy little smile.

Dean laughed a little but it sounded stupidly loud in the small space.

"Well…" Dean said finally, "Do you want to you know, ask me about my internal motivations or what this would mean for my life goals or anything like that?"

"Is it required?" Castiel asked suspiciously.

Dean shrugged, "No, guess not- wouldn't know, I've never really had a job interview before."

"Well, I've never really conducted one before."

"Guess that makes it easy," Dean smiled.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, "It does."

They stood there for a moment, sort of smiling at each other- which should have been a bit weird, but it wasn't, and that was even weirder.

"Oh!" Castiel said as if he'd suddenly remembered something. He hurried past Dean towards the shelves again. He didn't move like normal people- it was like his feet weren't totally touching the ground so he could sort of half float through his motions. It was graceful and a bit unsettling all at once… that actually summed up the whole guy pretty well come to think of it.

"Here," Castiel said, hand locking on something at the back of the shelf.

He pulled it back out, flourishing a neat little navy blue apron.

Dean stared at it for a minute. Castiel looked back at him expectantly. 

Well. He'd asked for it.

Dean snatched the thing up in one quick motion and tried not to think about the sort of hell Sam would be giving him as soon as he saw this.

\----

Sam was half running by the time he turned the corner toward his office, all the while trying to wake himself up enough to remember even half of what he managed to get through last night.

The glass door thankfully appeared in front of him and he pushed it open with his shoulder, stumbling in and striding towards his desk to grab the other files--

But someone was already there.

"You're late." He said without looking up from the file that was open on his lap. 

Nick's feet were idly tossed up on the other papers spread over the desk, one leg crossed over the other. Jeans, again, and what Sam could have sworn was the exact same green t-shirt, unless he had a Clark Kent style closet full of them (and yeah, he seemed like he might be just that weird enough of a guy). He'd thrown his suit jacket over the back of the desk chair and was rolling a pen casually around his thumb as he stared down into the files.

"Sorry" Sam panted, still trying to get his breath back after the frankly frantic trip down the hall, "But you didn't say--"

"I said 'tonight'," Nick said, still looking at the papers.

"Yeah, but--" Sam began.

Nick looked at him.

Sam stopped talking.

"Sorry…" He repeated weakly.

Nick smiled, "That's alright… I know hair like that must take some time in the morning."

"I just blow dry it." Sam said. 

Out loud. 

Shit.

_Shit._

Nick raised an eyebrow and his smile now had the distinct shape of someone trying harder than they should not to laugh.

Sam tried to ignore the intense flush spreading over his face by walking quickly to the seat on the other side of the desk, plopping down, and consuming himself with getting his homework out of his briefcase.

He glanced up quickly as he pulled the files free and suddenly noticed a coffee placed in front of his seat. Nick was looking back to the papers but that little smirk wasn't gone yet. He had his own coffee in front of him, which meant…

"Is… that for me?" Sam asked carefully, doing his best to hide the desperate hope, but jesus he could really use some stimulants right about now.

"Mhmm," Nick answered, not looking up. 

Sam pulled it into his hand and slung it back in one quick motion. The liquid hit his tongue and his whole face contorted in an effort not to spew it out over the desk.

"aUrgh--!" He managed as he swallowed, "It's freezing!"

Nick hardly seemed to notice his discomfort, "It was warm an hour ago. Some things get cold when you leave them waiting."

Sam opened his mouth but words didn't seem willing to cooperate, so he shut it again, slumped back, and started silently thumbing through the files.

"Oh, come on now, Sammy," Nick said with a sigh, staring at him over the papers, "Don't be like that. You're not nearly as pretty when you pout."

Sam ignored him as well as he could and pulled out the report he'd been looking for.

"You are quite a bit cuter though--"

"What exactly were you looking for in the brief?" Sam interrupted sharply.

"Fine," Nick shrugged, "No foreplay necessary--"

Sam tossed the folder down, "Look I'm not sure I get this." He suddenly snapped.

Nick stared at him innocently over the papers, "Get what?"

"This!" Sam started, gesturing around him wildly, "What am I even doing here?"

Nick gave him confused, slightly pitying expression, "It is… your office."

Sam sighed roughly and leaned back, "Fine, fine, okay it's my office- so what are you doing here?"

Nick narrowed his eyes slightly, "Meeting with co-council?" He lowered his voice a little, "Which has just been just thrilling so far, let me tell you--"

"No," Sam interrupted rudely, but there wasn't much he could do about that now, "I mean why me? I don't get it- I mean you have a whole firm here, _your_ firm, and this is my second day and I have never even been to trial before and… I just don't get it."

Nick tilted his head to one side, "You think I should reconsider my decision?"

"No!" Sam heard himself say a little too desperately, "I just… it's just a little weird okay? I mean come on- you've got to give me that."

"I'll give you whatever you want." Nick smiled lazily.

Sam blushed again like an idiot and he was getting damn pretty sick of that.

"I want to know what makes me so special." Sam said, making himself look him right back at the slicing stare.

Nick held his gaze for a minute, and then a minute longer. 

Finally he shrugged, "I like you."

Sam stared, "And that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Pretty much?"

"I'm sorry, did you not hear me?"

Sam shut up. That voice really could get a little scary… just a bit, just on the edges.

He was about to dive back into the papers when the voice sounded again, softer this time.

"You seem... honest."

Sam looked up, "Honest?"

"Mmm," Nick said, face back to the papers in his lap.

Sam laughed shortly and he glanced back up.

"Something funny?"

Sam chuckled as he stared into the papers, "No just, you, valuing honesty."

Nick leaned forward with an expression of mock-reproach, "Sammy, are you calling me a liar?"

Sam gave him his best "oh please" look.

"Really?" Sam asked.

Nick shrugged helplessly.

Sam shut the folder and leaned back with a sigh, "Lucifer?"

Nick furrowed his brow, "Yes?"

Sam smiled as he shook his head, "Nothing, just for someone who lies about their own name--"

"I wouldn't lie to you." Nick said simply.

Sam laughed, "Oh come on, I'm not falling for it again."

Nick stared at him for a moment longer and then very suddenly got up from behind the desk, walked to the door, and left. 

Sam stared after him and was about to stand up and try to figure out just what he did when he saw Nick walk into his own office through the glass wall. He rummaged in his desk for a minute, seemed to find what he was looking for, pulled it out, and strode back across the floor.

The glass door clicked as it opened again and Nick crossed the office and dropped the rolled up piece of paper into Sam's lap before returning to his (well, Sam's really) seat.

Sam stared at him. 

Nick tossed out a hand towards the rolled paper as if saying "go ahead- please."

So, Sam picked it up, unrolled it, and--

"You keep your Harvard Law degree rolled up in your desk?"

"It's mostly valued for it's less tactile counterparts," Nick said, "But not really the point. Little lower…"

Sam's gaze travelled down the sheet and suddenly locked.

"There it is." Nick said.

Sam looked back to him, "Really?"

Nick shrugged, "I told you."

"But…" He read it again, yup, definitely there, "Lucifer… Lucius?"

"I know," Nick sighed, "Terribly redundant. Main reason why I changed it."

"You changed it?"

"Is this going to be a problem with you? Because I really can't be repeating myself like this in court, not very professional."

"No, sorry," Sam shook his head, "I just.. well, sorry I guess. I really didn't believe you."

Nick looked back to the desk and this time his voice ground a little harder when he spoke, "Yes, well- it is unbelievable."

Sam suddenly found himself remembering something he'd read a few years ago. It had been one of the few books Dean recommend to him- there had been some stuff about how kids are more likely to drown in back yard pools than shoot themselves with household weapons, and how drug dealers were essentially Walmarts, but there was another aspect coming back to him now, something about kids who were given shit names intentionally and how they all became rather viciously successful people in the end as if to spite it…

"Well?" Nick said.

Sam looked up, snapping back to the present, "What?"

Nick tossed a hand in the direction of the files, "Care to tell me what the hell we're looking at here?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow, "You don't know…?"

"I know," He smiled, "I want to see if you do."

Sam sighed, leaned back, and pulled out the papers he'd used up an entire highlighter to work through, trying to ignore the way Nick eyed him as he looped his hands behind his head and eased himself even deeper into Sam's chair.

\----

Dean was really trying his best not to laugh, but dammit if this guy wasn't making it as hard as humanly possible.

"Simply approach the desk, place the appropriately labeled coffee on the table, and accept the designated fee." Castiel said in a slow careful voice.

"Yeah, I got it," Dean said.

"Are you sure?" Castiel said, staring at him intently.

"Yes! Jesus, it's not like it's a sting operation!"

"No…" Castiel answered seriously, "It is a coffee delivery." 

"Yeah, yeah," Dean answered not without a twitch of a grin as he snatched up the neatly labelled cup.

He stepped easily up to the desk. There was a woman behind it, sort of Bridget Jones type (and god, he really needed to remember not to say things like that out loud): blonde, grey sweater, clicking away quickly at her keyboard. Dean cleared his throat.

"Sara?" 

She glanced at him, then back to the computer, then, steadily, slowly, back to him. Dean smiled.

"Are you Sara?"

She smiled back, "Yes?"

"Got your coffee." He said, teeth and all, setting it easily down on the counter.

"Oh," She looked down at it as she had maybe forgotten for a moment such a thing as coffee existed in this universe, and okay, sometimes he did have that effect on people, no sense in denying it.

"Thank you, umm---"

"Dean." He finished for her.

"Dean," She repeated carefully.

He could almost feel Castiel getting anxious behind him but he ignored it and leaned on the desk a little, "So, Sara- would be believe me if I said I had a feeling about you?"

Her cheeks went pink at the corners and she lowered her voice gently, leaning forward, "A feeling?"

"Mmm," Dean murmured.

She stared up at him in pure wonder, "What is it?"

"I have this feeling," Dean smiled leaning forward, "That a blueberry muffin would just make your day."

She laughed prettily, "Is that right?"

"Trust me." Dean grinned.

She leaned her cheek against her hand, "Well… I guess it couldn't hurt."

"You won't regret it," He said turning back to the cart and snatching one.

Castiel was staring at him like he was seriously attempting telekinesis but Dean ignored it.

"Six fifty." He smiled at her.

She opened her neat little pink purse and gave him a ten.

"Let me just get your change--"

"That's fine," She smiled, "But if you're wrong about the muffin, I'll be looking for you--"

"Oh, I'm not," Dean said, "You'll see." And with that he was back at the cart, pushing it easily down the hall.

"That was not what I told you to do." Castiel growled near his ear, "That was a… forced muffin."

Dean laughed, "Hey man- I've never forced muffins. No means no, right? And that definitely wasn't a no. Look- she's happy about it."

"Even so--" Castiel sulked.

"So, what?" Dean asked turning to him, "Look- you said you were looking for someone who's better with people, and that's paying off already."

He tucked the ten dollar bill neatly into the cash bag on the top of that cart.

"Right?" He asked, looking at him again.

Castiel looked like he was practically ready to squirm out of his skin with discomfort but he nodded shortly, "I suppose that it is worth an attempt at the very least--"

"Exactly!" Dean smiled, "Don't worry, I'll be a good little worker bee, I promise."

"We shall see," Castiel said with what Dean thought sounded like practiced doom. The skinny guy stopped the cart and pointed at him sharply, "But if you start harassing people into dangerously prolonged indulgences of gluttony there will be a problem."

Dean laughed and shook his head, "Don't worry man, I'm not going to be inflicting heart disease on the populous at large."

Castiel nodded solemnly and continued to push the cart forward, while Dean finished chuckling to himself. He realized suddenly he hadn't smiled this much in weeks, not since the fight and the blows and the half conscious drive to Sam's trying to mop the blood up from under his nose with his jacket sleeve. And it wasn't that he hadn't had fun with Sam, it was just… this was just different. And when he looked at Sam part of him scrambled inside muttering "you'll have to tell him sooner or later" but Dean was doing pretty good ignoring that voice so far and intended to keep it up as long as he could.

"Cassy!" A lilting voice behind them called and Dean pulled the cart to stop, turning to see a rather swaggering guy with his blonde hair styled to the seventh circle of hell.

"Oh," The newcomer said stopping short and giving Dean an evaluating look from the ground up, "Got yourself a little something did you?"

"Balthazar, Dean Winchester. Dean, Balthazar." Castiel said curtly.

"Winchester?" Balthazar started, "Not as in 'Sam Winchester'."

"That's right," Dean said. This guy was making him a little edgy with that care-free accent and the way he looked at him as if was appraising a painting.

"Bloody hell," Balthazar smiled, "Are we being invaded?"

"Did you need something from me?" Castiel asked rather impatiently.

"Oh, cranky again I see. Didn't get much sleep?" Balthazar tutted, "Late night training?"

Dean was starting to think "smart ass" was a resume requirement here.

"Anyways, it's almost lunch- shouldn't you have your sandwiches and all of that?" Balthazar asked, leaning over with his hands in his pockets to get a better look at the trolley's contents.

"They're underneath--" Castiel said, instantly spurring the blonde man into a crouch position to one side reaching down into the depths of the cart. 

"Balthazar!" Castiel scolded but it didn't seem to have much effect.

He popped back up with two sandwiches knitted easily between his fingers and Dean was almost impressed.

"Where's your looming sibling?" He asked Dean shortly, snatching a bottled water off the cart.

"Couldn't tell you." Dean shrugged.

"I believe Sam is in his office." Castiel said.

"I'm sorry _'his'_ office?" Balthazar repeated with a stare, "Did I miss something? Have I promoted him and forgotten?"

"He's with Nick." Castiel said.

"Ah," Balthazar answered, rolling his eyes, "I see…"

"Yes." Castiel said simply. Dean had the strong feeling that there was some unheard conversation going on but he did his best to ignore it.

"And where is this new office?" Balthazar said, his bored manner now seeming rather irritated.

"Next to Nick's."

"Of course it is." Balthazar sighed and with that began to walk (well, really kinda swish) down the hall.

"The sandwiches and water are thirteen dollars and forty six cents." Castiel called after him.

He just waved a hand back.

"Want me to go after him?" Dean asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager because he would love the chance.

"No," Castiel sighed, "He'll make it up eventually."

"Do you let everyone just take food off you whenever they want?" 

"Only family."

"You're related?" Dean stared, "Seriously?"

"Unfortunately," Cas finished.

\---

"To be honest, I think it's going to be a hard sell to any jury," Sam said, flipping through his notes quickly, "I mean the fattening components are one thing, but the lethargic side effects--"

"Alleged lethargic side effects," Nick added absentmindedly, attention apparently focused on knitting paper clips together across the desk his feet were still resting on.

"Fine," Sam conceded, "Alleged lethargic side effects, even so: people know they are getting fat, that's fine, but the fact that food is actually trying to turn them into human bean bags--"

"I'm sorry, but what's the difference, again?" Nick said, still staring at the paper clips, a little line forming in his forehead as he narrowed his eyes.

"Between what?" Sam asked.

"Between being fat and being lazy?"

Sam stared, "Umm, I'm not--"

"I mean, I was under the impression that having two hundred excess pound of flesh knitted onto your muscles made you slightly less active by definition,"

"Well, the medical reports here from twenty out of the thirty case studies are arguing with that statement,"

Nick shrugged, "You might argue that twenty out of thirty people regardless of diet or weight tend towards a natural form of lethargy."

"I don't know if that's a solid enough defense,"

"Just as solid as their offense."

Sam stared at him for a moment but he seemed to be quite contented with the paper clips. He grumbled slightly and ran a hand through his hair.

"Stressed?" Nick smiled, "No need to take it out on the hair--"

"No, look," Sam stammered, "It's just… I don't know if we're in the right here."

Nick smiled at him like he was a child asking where rainbows came from, "The 'right'?"

"Yes." Sam snapped, "You know 'the right' usually accompanied by 'the wrong'."

"Ouch, no need to bring the sass into this Sammy."

"It's just, well, looking at this, _all_ of this- and there's kind of a lot, in case you didn't notice."

Nick clicked his tongue, "Again with the sass, it stings, Sammy, really!"

"It just seems like the plaintiffs might have a reasonable claim here- that's all."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "You want to recommend a settlement?"

Sam sighed, "No, well, yes, well- god, I don't know! In case you forgot this is my second day, so I'm not really totally confident in my abilities to recommend approaches to clients, but I've just been staring at these files all night and it seems like SucroCorp really has had a negative effect on these people's lives. It seems like they're in the wrong here."

"We're." Nick corrected.

"What?"

"'They' are our clients. That makes us 'we' not 'them'."

"Well, fine," Sam said exasperated, " _We_ are in the wrong here."

"Look, Sammy," Nick said, stretching lazily and pulling his legs off of the table to lean forward on his elbows, "I'm going to make this easy for you, and early on- you should consider yourself lucky.

Sam was having a hard time holding his frankly ferocious eye contact but he managed it. Barely.

Nick stared back, "There is no right or wrong. Get used to it."

And with that he leaned back as if it was all sorted. Easy as that.

Sam stared and then laughed, "That's your great advice?"

"That's right."

"Well… that's just, not true at all, is it?"

Nick glanced up at him again as of he expected him to do something mildly amusing, "Really?"

"Yes!" Sam insisted, still laughing slightly at the absurdity of it, "I mean, murder, for one."

"Which murder is that?" Nick asked, "The girl stabbing her boyfriend after he threatens to beat her for the fourth time that week? Or maybe the man whose son was shot in a gas station for simply being in the wrong place, deciding after falsified evidence gets the case thrown out, that 'justice' isn't quite doing it's job."

Sam stuttered, "Well… I don't--"

"Right and wrong mean nothing. There's perspective and relativity. That's all. That's it. Get used to it."

Sam shook his head and looked back to his lap full of papers, "Jesus…"

Nick glanced at him, "Problem?"

He considered not answering, but no- if he insisted on making him uncomfortable the least he could do was try to return the favor.

"I imagined you'd be different, that's all." Sam said.

He felt his stare watching him silently, "Did you?"

"Yes," Sam said looking up, "I did."

"Did you imagine me often?" Nick pressed.

"That's not what I meant."

"What were you picturing exactly?" Nick smiled, "Atticus Finch?"

_Yes._

"No."

"Did we get locked in the court house after a fiery debate? Maybe your hand just happened to slip under my seer-sucker jacket? Did my glasses get in the way of all the torrid passion? Or did you take them off first?"

A knock sounded sharply on the door just in time to stop Sam from begging him to _pleasedeargod_ stop talking.

"Hello," Came the musical British voice as Balthazar pushed the door open.

"Did I say 'come in'?" Nick sighed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was under the impression that this was Mr. Winchester's office." Balthazar smirked.

"It is." Sam and Nick answered at the same time.

Balthazar smirked a little harder as he glanced from one to the other.

"Well, putting aside the adorable bond in here… Sam, lunch."

"What?"

Balthazar waved the two sandwiches in the air like square maracas.

"Oh, uhhh--" Sam turned and glanced to Nick who frowned a little.

"Stealing my toys already?"

"Don't worry, just sandwiches, I'm not going to bugger him in the broom closet."

Sam was starting to wonder what the sexual harassment policy here was…

"We do have quite a bit of work--" Nick tutted.

"Oh, come off it, you're not going to interrupt my 'grand second day tradition' are you? Lunch for the new associate- or have you made him partner already? I seem to be missing all these grand decisions."

"Sammy," Nick said, eyeing him sarcastically, "Would you like to go and have a sandwich with the pompous man?"

Sam didn't bother giving him a scathing look as he stood up and tromped out the door past Balthazar, who he could have sworn stuck his tongue out at Nick as he did- he didn't see if the other man returned the favor.

"You're welcome," Balthazar smiled as he caught up to him a little ways down the hall.

"We are working on a case." Sam grumbled.

"Mmm, yes, I can see that quite clearly."

Sam turned to him, "Second day traditions? Is that a normal law firm thing, or--"

"Met your brother," Balthazar said as he turned a corner down towards the the partner's offices, "I see that bitter silence runs in the family."

"I'm not bitter," Sam said.

"No of course not, why would you be? New job, new office, new salary- anyone bitter at that would have to be labelled clinically ungrateful."

Sam said nothing.

"Ah!" Balthazar proclaimed as he turned and pushed open the closest door, "Here we are."

The door opened up into what Sam might call a "break room" but here they probably had a more highbrow name for it "client area" or "casual space". There was a nice little half kitchen with a few people milling about in it, some tall tables with high stools looking out the one glass wall that faced the city below. Balthazar was heading towards some armchairs and couches in the far corner and Sam followed quickly behind him, noticing that the same red-haired girl from yesterday was sitting there already.

She stood up neatly as they approached, "Hello, I'm Anna."

She reached out a hand and Sam took it and shook it, "Hi Anna, I'm Sam."

"Yes, I know." She said sitting back down again, looking vaguely concerned.

"Yeah…" Sam added, sitting himself in the chair opposite as Balthazar settled into the couch next to his- what? Cousin? Sister? Sam had gotten lost somewhere during Castiel's rambling family tree recital.

"I guess my introduction wasn't totally subtle." Sam finished.

"No," Balthazar smirked, tossing him a sandwich, "But if it makes you feel any better, half the firm still thinks your name's Sexy."

"Doesn't really. Thanks though."

Bathazar winked and held his sandwich up in a little salute.

"How are you doing?" Anna asked suddenly as she looked at him with what Sam felt was for the first time in all of this was genuine concern. Not mockery, or resentment, or something some weird creepy stare, just concern, like he might actually be having a seriously shit first week, and he instantly sort of loved her for it.

"He's fantastic," Balthazar said with a eye roll as he unwrapped his sandwich.

"Stop that," Anna scolded lightly before turning back to Sam, "Really- how are you?"

"Alright," He said, "I guess. But, well, would you hate me if I told you guys this place was a little weird?"

"Do we still have those understatement ribbons lying around?" Balthazar muttered to Anna.

She ignored him, "No, we're not going to hate you for that."

Sam smiled and pulled the white paper away from his own sandwich, "Well, I guess that makes me feel a bit less crazy."

He glanced up at Anna but her face had dropped again at his words and she had that concerned line back in her forehead. He looked quickly to Balthazar but he seemed suddenly uncomfortable as well.

"How's Nick?" He said suddenly.

"Oh," Sam said clearing his throat, "He's… well, fine?"

"Is that right?" Balthazar asked.

"…Yes?"

"Was that a question?"

"…No?"

There was a pause.

Anna broke it.

"He should know Balthazar." She said.

"I think that's enough of that, dear." Balthazar almost hissed back at her.

"Know what?" Sam asked.

They both tried to say something at once and then fell silent and glared at each other.

"Is he…" Sam started, already hating himself for it, "Well, not exactly okay?"

"That really all depends on your personal limits of normalcy." Balthazar droned sipping on his bottled water.

"Can you please just tell me what's going on here?" Sam sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair, "I feel like everyone's working off a different rule book, and yeah I am new, and that's probably totally as it should be, but people keep giving me these looks--"

Anna glanced up at him pityingly.

"Yeah! That look!" Sam burst out pointing at her, "And I just feel like there's something here I should maybe know about."

"Such as?" Balthazar asked.

"Such as: is he crazy?"

"Who?" Balthazar answered drolly.

Sam grumbled and fell back in his seat, "Alright, fine, I get it."

"He's been in treatment." Anna said suddenly, ignoring the daggers Balthazar started staring at her.

"Treatment?" Sam asked.

She nodded quietly.

"So... he is crazy?"

"According to the referrals there is no longer cause for concern." Balthazar answer with a sigh.

"But there was?" Sam pressed.

"Hardly." Balthazar shrugged.

"There was that whole thing with throwing the chair through the window…" Anna muttered.

"Wait, wait - _what?_ " Sam insisted.

Balthazar sighed, "Oh, come on- it wasn't like it was that big of a chair."

"It was the 23rd floor window," Anna continued angrily, "He's lucky he didn't kill anyone on the street!"

"I'm sorry," Sam tried, shutting his eyes, "When was this?"

"Last year's Christmas party." Anna answered, "After the announcement."

"What announcement?"

"Anna--" Balthazar tried.

"The announcement that Michael would be made managing partner."

"Oh." Sam said.

Balthazar let out a light sigh, evidently realizing the worst had been covered already, "There's always been what one might call 'conflict' between Michael and Nick."

"If conflict is synonymous with raging hatred." Anna said to one side.

"I believe it is, Anna, yes, thank you." Balthazar snapped.

"Right." Sam said quietly.

"He didn't take it well." Anna said.

"I see." Sam answered.

"I really wouldn't mention it to him." She said.

"Yeah, I got that." Sam said, "But… Michael, that's the Michael who's not here?"

"But will be back next week? Yes, that Michael."

"And have they…"

"Seen each other since the 'series of unfortunate incidents'?" Balthazar finished neatly, "I couldn't say, but, given the date on Nick's release papers and the fact that Michael has been in L.A. for the past month, I wouldn't bet on it."

"And…" Sam tried, "Everyone thinks things are going to be okay?"

"Oh no," Balthazar answered casually, "Everyone thinks things are going to be rather apocalyptic."

Sam groaned a little and leaned forward onto his knees, "Well, I guess that at least explains some of it…"

"I thought you deserved to know," Anna said quietly.

"Thank you." Sam answered sincerely.

"Wonderful," Balthazar said with a roll of his eyes.

"But," Sam continued, "I still don't get why he's so interested in me?"

Balthazar smiled, "Oh Sam, you really ought to work on that self esteem."

"Seriously." Sam said.

He glanced at Anna but she simply shrugged.

"Besides your natural quick wit," Balthazar answered, "I honestly could not tell you. I'd mark it down as another one of his recent eccentricities."

"But I thought you said he'd had treatment."

"He did."

"And he is… better?"

"That's what the papers say."

"But… you don't buy that."

"There's that wit again," Balthazar smiled sarcastically.

"So," Sam struggled, "He just, likes me?

"Suppose so." Anna said.

"What am I supposed to do?" Sam groaned.

"Your job." Balthazar said flatly.

Sam nodded silently.

"And be careful." Anna said gently.

Sam looked back at her and then stared back down to the untouched sandwich. Suddenly it wasn't so inviting…

\----

Overall- assholes and weirdness and mixing up two lattes aside- it had been a pretty awesome day.

Dean leaned back in one of the few folding chairs that Castiel seemed to keep around the storage room and took a hearty sip of the soda in his hand a fat bite out of one of the left over muffins (chocolate chip, and frankly _fantastic_ ), while his new coworker stood off to one side, neatly and quickly counting up the day's earnings.

"Do you make these?" Dean asked- and okay, with his mouth full, it was really more like: "Doo joomak dees?" sprayed out with some muffin crumbs.

"Yes," Castiel said without looking up from the money, "Please don't speak to me while I am counting."

"Sorry," Dean managed and swallowed his mouthful, "But they're freakin' awesome man."

Castiel smiled a little as his fingers quickly flicked through the bills, "Thank you."

"Seriously," Dean continued, "Do you ever make pie?"

"What did I say about talking?"

Dean mumbled something a fell quiet again.

"In previous years I have only done so on Thanksgiving," Castiel said after a moment.

"Well, if these muffins are any indicator that's too few and far between. They must be freaking orgasmic."

Dean could have sworn he saw the guys cheeks flush a bit but he ignored it.

"Thanksgiving's next week," Dean realized suddenly, "Will you bring pie?"

Castiel had that shy little smile on again, "If you wish."

"Yeah, I wish!" Dean laughed, "I mean if it's not too much of a pain in the ass."

"Not at all." Castiel said, finally gathering the bills up neatly.

"So…" Dean led, "Does that mean you want me to come back tomorrow?"

Castiel looked up at him and jesus, those eyes were still making his stomach do stupid weird things.

"Dean," He said solemnly, "Today we earned approximately 750% above my previously standard daily revenue."

"Approximately?" Dean teased.

"I have to be lenient on the accounts receivable income for cart pilfering." Castiel said and Dean wonder for a minute if mockery simply went over his head or if he was playing along. And that was just really sort of neat.

"So, I'm coming back tomorrow?"

Castiel smiled at him, "Oh, most certainly."

"Awesome," Dean grinned like some idiot and practically danced up to his feet, "Thanks man."

"It's my pleasure." 

"Well, are you okay here?" He asked, making some half assed gestures to the storage room, "I mean do you need any more help with anything? I'd just like to grab Sammy and hit the road, plus he'll be stoked to hear the news."

"Yes, of course, no, go on- I'll just finish up. It should only take a few minutes longer."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Dean smiled pulling his jacket over his shoulders and heading for the door.

He pulled the clunky thing open about a foot and was about to walk out and down the darkening halls when he stopped and turned back.

"See you tomorrow, Cas." He grinned.

The blue eyes widened for a minute and then the little smile stumbled over his stubbled cheeks.

"Goodnight, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

"Here-" Dean said roughly, shoving Cas' stony body aside with his shoulder and bouncing down to his knees in front of the cart.

"I'm still not convinced this is necessary…" Cas said, still sounding kinda grumbly, but after a week of working with the guy Dean was starting to realize he always sounded pretty grumbly.

"You can't have a cart without a name, Cas," Dean answered, grabbing the little chalk board he'd brought with him that morning and fixing it to the side.

"People have always seemed to managed sufficiently without a title," Cas insisted.

"Well, I bet they'll manage even better with one," Dean said as he maneuvered the colored chalk over the board to the best of his abilities, which weren't anything to brag about but he could at least manage something half way decent.

"There!" He said proudly, leaning back on his heels to take it in.

Cas stared down skeptically and read: " 'Cas's Tasty Trolley…' "

"Clean, simple, catchy," Dean said as he stood and clapped some of the chalk off his hands.

"The second 's' is unnecessary." Cas said.

"Well, fine, we'll fix that later." Dean said, "And if you really hate it that much you can just wipe the whole thing off and call it good."

"No," Cas said suddenly turning on him like he was afraid he'd said something wrong and then looked away again sharply, "It's not… it's fine."

Dean let himself smile at him for a minute before turning back to the end of the cart.

It had been a week. A good week. And alright if we was totally honest: a really awesome week. 

He really hadn't known what to think that first morning, all these tightwads running around like they were god's gift to the world with enough money to prove it, but hey, turns out that people with cash coming out of their asses can be pretty awesome tippers if you play your cards right and with that and the fact that Cas had insisted on splitting the profits with him instead of paying regular wages, Dean had already made enough for his half of the rent which was really just the best kind of surprise- well, beside the one were he was actually looking forward to waking up everyday and making coffee which should have been stupid and boring and depressing but just wasn't.

He was having fun. _Fun_ \- making coffee and serving sandwiches, and it shouldn't have been but it completely was. There was a sense of control that he'd never really had before- this feeling that if he came up with something and tried it and it worked it would pay off. The third day he'd told Cas he should keep some bagels on the cart and they'd sold out within the first hour. He'd insisted two days ago that he let him take the midmorning coffee around on his own so that he'd have an extra hour to prepare for lunch and they'd brought in double what they normally did. He was already trying to think of the best way to fit a smoothie maker onto the thing because that was just cash waiting to get scooped up. 

And Cas heard it all. He stared at Dean as he explained the latest idea, and listened: _really_ listened. Dean was starting to wonder if he kept coming up with ideas just for the way he listened. It was almost addictive- those big blue eyes unflinchingly staring directly into his, the way he'd run a tongue quickly over his wide lips every now and again as if the act of listening that hard was actually dehydrating him out somehow. And he leaned- kinda tilted, and his head slipped a little to one side- sort of like that thing owl's did- only owls didn't have necks like his, a neck that sort of pulled out of the collar of his shirt just a bit and lengthened it on one side so Dean could just see where the dark stubble slipped back into skin.

But it was more than listening. Much more. Dean was starting to think it was just possible to be such little fun that you actually came out the other side into some strange unintentionally hilarious realm. 

Cas didn't do things like other people. He counted the amount of chocolate chips he put in the muffins to make sure they all got the same. He polished the wheels on the cart that no one even saw anyways, and seemed to take a little extra care tucking in his shirt in the mornings and then didn't seem to notice as it slipped more and more into disarray as the day went on. And when he smiled, well, it was stupid, but no one else really seemed to smile with their whole face the way Cas did, especially here. Gabe grinned but it rarely seemed truly happy, and Balthazar smirked and his eyes glittered to all hell but there was a sort of maliciousness there, and Nick- well, Dean would be lying if he said the guy didn't creep him out a little bit because there was nothing that even tried to smile about him besides the little corners at the ends of his mouth. But Cas- it was like something warm spread over the whole of his face, almost like he was stepping into the sun, and well, it was just nice- that's all.

He wasn't smiling now though, he was still frowning down at the board with that little wrinkle in his forehead. After a minute he dropped down to his knees to stare at it closer.

Dean ignored it. He'd come around eventually. He had to everything else.

"So, we've got three chai's, ten lattes', four hot chocolates - two of which are for your freaking ant of a brother-- hey!"

Cas had starting scribbling away with the chalk.

"I thought you said you'd at least give it a day!" Dean said as he stepped back around, and then stopped.

Cas stood back up, wiping his hands off on the small dish towel he always kept under the strap of his apron. 

Dean stared for a minute. He'd wiped off the last 's' on Cas like he'd said they should, but he'd taken the apostrophe as well and replaced it with a (frankly perfect) ampersand and in neat capital letters added his name, tying the whole thing together into "Cas and Dean's Tasty Trolley". 

Dean's hard writing looked messy as hell next to Cas' neat sharp script. But it sort of worked. In a weird, clumsy sort of way. 

"You didn't--" He started finally.

"If you really hate it that much you can just wipe the whole thing off and call it good." Cas said simply and Dean couldn't help laughing.

"Is that supposed to be me?"

Cas smiled down at his hands on the handle of the cart, "No, of course not."

Dean shook his head and stepped back next to him, "Sure- now come on, we should get this molten sugar to your brother before the withdrawal kicks in."

"Agreed." Cas said, easily pushing the cart down the wooden floors.

"And for the record- that was the single worst impression I have ever heard."

\----

Sam let the water warm up a bit before slipping his hands underneath it. He realized just too late that he hadn't rolled his shirt sleeves up but it didn't matter much anyways.

He was exhausted. Again. It didn't feel like he'd gotten more than twelve hours of sleep for the past week and somehow every morning he got in earlier and every morning Nick was already there, flipping through reports and files, sighing dramatically as if he was severally wounded by Sam's tardiness. 

Sam knew he should just stop it - come in at seven or even eight, just the same thing every day, not keep striving to get there earlier and earlier and failing each time like some sort of exhaustion armament's race. It had been almost six this morning for christ's stake and still: waiting, legs up on the desk, tapping a pen on his lower lip idly. 

And he'd then told him as if it was simplest thing in the world that a client was coming in for deliberations with opposing council in half and hour. It wasn't the SucroCorp people thank god, some high-powered divorce case, but still! It was the first time Sam would be actually meeting clients and it would have been nice to have had some notice. But that wouldn't be like him would it? Sam suspected - no, screw that, was absolutely positive - that Nick got some sick kick out of seeing how shocked he could get him and Sam was also starting to think that he must make funnier faces when he was exhausted because that seemed to be becoming a habit as well. Not that he should complain - he'd known years ago that new associates pulled crazy hours, and arguably sadistic bosses were not unheard of, but the weird combination of that expected abusive behavior and what could easily qualify as blatant sexual harassment was making it all just a bit outside of what he would have considered "normal first job issues".

Sam glanced up at himself in the mirror. He looked like a wreck. His eyes were still shadowed from lack of sleep and his tie was all out of place. He adjusted it sharply and tossed it over his shoulder before splashing some water on his face and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He looked back up at the mirror to see if he'd made any progress but suddenly he wasn't the only one in it.

"Hi." Zachariah said.

Sam groaned a little, "If you're going to give me a swirly can it please just wait an hour."

Zachariah's tight smile twitched, "Is that really how you want to be addressing a partner of the firm, Sam?"

Sam turned to look at him. He should keep it together, smile and leave and let that be it, but it was already feeling like another long day in what had felt like a month of long days and well and his bullshit tolerance was really running on empty. 

"I know you don't like me," Sam said, "Actually, I'm sure you hate me. And that's fine, and the truth is I don't really care. So, I'm sorry if I don't think pleasantries are going to make much of a difference."

Zachariah tightened his eyes a little, "Is that right?"

Sam shrugged, "Just about - and I have a meeting with a client, so if you wouldn't mind saving the rest of the bathroom intimidation scene for later--"

Zachariah tossed up his hands, "Hey, no, don't mind me- just wanted to say good luck."

Sam paused, "Good luck?"

"With Michael," Zachariah answered.

Sam stared.

"Oh," Zachariah said, stepping a little closer, "You didn't know? He'll be here in a few hours - a day or two earlier than originally planned, but he's always been a bit of stickler for efficiency. I'm sure he'll be very interested to hear about all the new changes that have come about in the past week - very interesting stuff, some might say not terribly efficient but I guess he'll just have to be the judge of that."

He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and leaned in close to his ear.

"Tell Nick to enjoy you while he has you- because when Michael transfers you to me, where you should be, I won't be so gentle."

And with that he pushed open the door and left, humming something Sam thought sounded a little too choral to be anything less than creepy.

Sam took a minute, had one deep breath to himself, turned back to the mirror, making sure he was as straightened out as he was going to get, and hurried back to his office. 

Nick wasn't there and Sam let himself be grateful for a minute as he plopped down at his desk and flitted through the papers detailing the divorce case particulars.

It was fine- he wasn't going to think about it. So the managing partner was coming back and he might loose this entire situation. So what? He hadn't done anything wrong! He'd just worked hard and happened to draw the attention of a senior partner. Lots of senior partners had associates. It was fine. Totally, totally fine. He didn't need to bug Nick about it, didn't need to make sure he wouldn't actually get sent down to Zachariah or worse. And it wasn't that he was a little bit terrified to mention the name "Michael" around him, it was just that there was nothing to worry about.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and tried to focus on the words.

"Section 1. A divorce from the bond of matrimony may be adjudged for adultery, impotency, utter desertion continued for one year next prior to the filing of the complaint, gross and confirmed habits of intoxication caused by voluntary and excessive use of intoxicating liquor, opium, or other drugs, cruel and abusive treatment--"

Sam sighed and pushed the papers aside. He glanced over towards Nick's office. There were the bookcases, lined up neatly along the opposite wall, the neat leather chairs facing the desk, a few papers scattered across the top of it along with a green t-shirt.

Wait--

Sam saw him almost in the same minute and looked away instantly as his his whole face felt like it was catching fire.

 _What the hell was he doing?_ Sam didn't want to look back and see what he was almost positive he had already seen, but that was pretty stupid- it was just a guy- that was perfectly normal, right?

He glanced back over.

Okay, so he wasn't totally naked as Sam had initial feared- but he could have sworn it had just been boxer briefs a minute before and that theory was supported by the fact that his jeans were slung over the back of his chair and he was neatly doing up the belt looped around a crisp pair of charcoal grey suit pants, which fitted… well.

Nick hadn't managed to get to his buttoned shirt yet, but Sam could see it hanging up to one side with thin black tie draped over the shoulder. And it didn't seem like he planned on putting a shirt on under it because he certainly wasn't wearing one at the moment and there was nothing besides the green one on the table, and if he meant to wear that he would have just kept it on… wouldn't he? 

He was fit. It would be stupid to deny it, plus it wasn't like it was a compliment, it was just a normal adjective that totally applied to this particular situation- and Sam couldn't help being a little surprised. He'd known he wasn't exactly out of shape but the way he carried himself and the casual manner in which his clothing tended to fall made it seem like he was pretty much just, well: normal. Sam had noticed his arms a bit before- because they were often only about three feet away and they were kinda noticeable. But now it was just undeniable. 

Nick's back was about half way facing him and it was speckled with a couple fading bruises playing along the rounded skin. There was a thickness to the muscles- a weight and a kind of overall heartiness to him, but there was a leanness too, and Sam was starting to realized he could probably hand his ass to him if he felt so inclined. And that was really some unfortunate mental phrasing but he was definitely not going to dwell on that…

One of Nick's hands reached up with it's own sense of purpose and pulled the white shirt down. He stretched his arms out and turned a little as he pulled it on and Sam couldn't help noticing the sharp play of muscles along his ribs and wondered if those bruises were from judo or something like that because normal workouts really didn't give you _that_ kind of definition. Nick kept turning as he buttoned up the shirt - he moved slowly, gracefully, as if the world was slowing down just for him and that was just as it should be.

Sam couldn't help watching him now, there was something strangely hypnotic about the way he moved and how the morning light shedding in the window caught against the white of the shirt and turned everything this sort of golden color. There was a thick fold of muscle that rested over his hipbones, making them appear sharply just above the fitted grey wool of his pants and it was hard to see with the light the way it was but it seemed like there was a dirty blonde spray of hair over his chest that fell away down his stomach-- 

No. No, no, no. Sam looked away from his stomach, back towards his face. A face that was looking right back at him.

Nick winked.

Sam swore sharply and turned away so fast his chair spun a little wildly and almost toppled backwards but he managed to get control of it- much more securely than he could keep a handle on how much blood was rushing into his face and how his hands were insisting on not working the right way as they tried to distract themselves by gathering up the papers on his desk. 

There was a little knock on the glass on his door.

Sam tried to sound normal, "Yeah,"

The latch sounded as it pushed open gently.

"Ready?" Came the calm voice.

Sam was still blushing like an idiot and trying harder than he should not to but he managed to at least get all the papers in his briefcase and stand up without falling over.

"Sure," He coughed, "Let's go."

He got just to the door before a hand lightly pressed onto his chest stopping him as his mouth went dry all at once.

"Sam…" Nick said gently.

Sam swallowed at glanced at him, instantly regretting it as the sharp eyes slammed into his. 

Nick leaned in a little closer and Sam was sure he could feel his heart thudding in his chest through the hand pressed there.

Nick smiled, "Don't forget your jacket."

Sam stared before muttering something and falling back into the office to pull it off the back of his seat and over his shoulders, desperately ignoring the way Nick was watching him which was just stupid because he really had no right to get pissed about being stared at after being caught just as badly as he had been.

He shrugged the suit jacket into place and turned back to Nick, noticing suddenly that he was completely dressed and it was the first time he'd actually seen him looking like he really was a senior partner in a top Boston law firm. Like a senior parter. Not like James Bond, what with the thin black tie and the slim fitting suit and the pants that were just a little short. Nope. Not at all.

"Well," Nick said with a little smile, "This is normally when we start walking."

\----

Sam made a very conscious choice to walk in front of him all the way to the conference room. But it seemed they had been beaten to it. As soon as Sam opened the door he saw a shorter man with dark hair and a black suit turn from where he'd opened his briefcase.

"Ah, remembered us, have you?" Said a rather rolling British voice. 

"Is that the royal 'we'? I really didn't think it was possible for your ego to get that much larger." Nick said as he slid past Sam.

"Oh, Nicky dear, everything gets a little larger when you walk in the room," said the man with the rounded almost sleepy eyes and a mouth that looked like it was constantly fighting a smug smile and loosing without much remorse.

"Aren't you going to introduce me," The man said, running his eyes down Sam like he was a mannequin.

"Oh, he talks," Nick said as he snapped open his briefcase.

The man turned and looked back to Sam expectantly.

Sam stuck out an awkward hand, "Hi."

The other man took it steadily, "Yes, 'Hello', and your name is--?"

"Sam, Sam Winchester."

"Ah," He said, "Crowley, from Lascaite, Ogne, Speranza."

Sam was starting to wonder if every firm here was some sort of medieval Italian import.

"Nice to meet you," He said.

"So polite," Crowley said dropping his hand and turning back to Nick, "You know Nick, some of us just content ourselves with a Lamborgini."

"He's more fuel efficient," Nick smiled back, "All about that sustainability."

Crowley chuckled to himself, "I will say I have missed you - your brother's not nearly as much fun as you are, even if you are popping loony pills every hour. Oh no, I'm sorry, did I say even - I meant especially."

Sam glanced at Nick out of the corner of his eye and saw his face tighten just a bit. 

"Dear me," Crowley said with mocking concern, "So sorry- are we not talking about that yet?"

"If you need to distract yourself from your client's frankly shameful standing that's fine by me, but it won't change those asset divisions." 

Crowley narrowed his eyes, "Is that right?"

"I think it's all quite clear."

"Massachusetts is a fault state in case you had forgotten." Crowley said.

"Which is exactly my point." Nick said.

They both stared at each other for a minute.

"Well… this should be interesting." Crowley said finally. 

"Aren't our clients supposed to, you know, be here?" Sam asked.

Neither of them looked at him.

"They should arrive any minute. They're traveling together."

Nick's attention snapped upright, "Excuse me?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Crowley smiled, "I arranged a car to bring them both along to the offices- thought it would be nice if they had some time together to chat things over before we begin."

Sam glanced over towards Nick in time to catch the way his brows tightened, "Contacting our client without our presence or knowledge is quite a breach of confidence--"

"Nick, Nick," Crowley clicked his tongue, "I think we both know I would never act in such an openly deceitful manner. At least not in any way that could link back to my firm to any noticeable extent."

A raised voice sounded down the hall, joined by another, both growing louder with each moment. Sam leaned back in his seat to look through the glass- two suited figures were walking quickly down the hall, as if each one was trying to put their back to the other and the result was an almost frantic pace as they gestured back and forth angrily and employees fell to either side to get out of their way.

"I see the car service was quite prompt," Crowley smiled as he shut his briefcase.

Sam leaned back to see them better and Nick kicked him under the table. He clambered to his feet just as Nick crossed the room to open the door for the entering couple.

"And if Jenny is such a sharp young girl then maybe she can manage to schedule your appointments when I am not halfway through a gallery opening," The woman snapped.

"I'm sure Sue will do without you- oh wait, no she won't will she? You're her what was it 'constant inspiration?'" The man said with equal venom.

"Mrs. Stark, Mr. Stark," Crowley smiled as he stood and extended a hand.

"Don't call me that," She snapped as she turned to Nick and tried to shrug off her coat. He easily reached up and helped her out of it.

"Good to see you Maggie," He smiled, "How's the Richter exhibit doing- I was tempted by that one we discussed, I hope you'll keep it aside for me."

She sighed as she slipped her arms free from the jacket, "I will, thank you Nick."

Sam couldn't help but see the way her husband laughed bitterly and shook his head as he sat down at the table next to Crowley.

"Something funny Don?" She said, "Or is the idea of someone actually attending an opening just beyond your comprehension?"

"Yes, Maggie, let's just disregard all the charity functions for your little shows I supported, it couldn't have been more than thirteen anyways, but of course they don't really count."

"Paying for art and appreciating it are not actually the same thing, Don."

"Alright!" Crowley smiled, "Shall we get started."

"Who's the child?" Don said suddenly, eyeing Sam.

"My associate," Nick said as he pulled Maggie's chair out for her, "Sam Winchester."

"It's nice to meet you Sam," She said warmly as she reached out a hand.

Sam took it, "It's nice to meet you, I look forward to working together."

She smiled at him pleasantly as he sat down on the other side of Nick.

"If I might begin by thanking everyone for making the time--" Crowley started.

"I don't think I would be terribly far off mark to assume that Mr. and the soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Stark would rather not waste time with pleasantries when we all know it's not improving the situation." Nick said cleanly.

Crowley leaned back, "Just trying to keep things friendly--"

"Don't." Nick said, looking back at him, cold gaze slicing, "It doesn't suit you."

Sam couldn't help staring at him a little. It was strange- since they entered the room he'd been different. His posture had gone straight and confident, his voice had hardened and quickened. The strange little lazy eccentricities in his motions were replaced with accurate economic gestures. It was… interesting.

"Now, I think the circumstances are fairly clean cut here--"

Don scoffed where he sat but Nick hardly seemed to notice.

There was a moment of silence.

Nick nudged Sam in the ribs. 

"Oh!" Sam started suddenly, trying to ignore the way Crowley was smirking at him as he pulled the files into his hands.

"We have on record an admission from you, Mr. Donald Stark, that you engaged in a sexual affair with a Miss. Wendy Goodson, a real estate broker who has recently been employeeed by your corporation to secure several properties in the Cambridge area. This confirmation presents indisputable proof of fault on the behalf of Mr. Stark."

"And what exactly constitutes this 'admission'." Crowley asked.

"The rather severe nature of it's undeniability." Nick said, slipping a glossy photograph out of a file under Sam's hand, grazing the back of his finger with his thumb for hardly a moment as he did, and pushing it lightly across the table.

"You'll have to congratulate Miss. Goodson on her flexibility for me, Mr. Stark," Nick said tilting his head a little to one side, "I might need the number of her yogi- my downward dog just hasn't been feeling right..."

Crowley slid the picture back to their side of the table, "We have our own source which reports not one but three previous indiscretions on the part of Mrs. Stark - each predating this particular incident by a significant margin."

Sam looked up sharply. Nick hardly moved. Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Do you have proof of these previous indiscretions? Without which I'm sure I don't need to mention these claims are purely theoretical--"

"Not in such vivid celluloid, no," Crowley said with a shrug, "But we are prepared to approach several witnesses who were, well, rather close to the situation and see if they might be convinced to testify."

"You son of a bitch," Maggie muttered, staring at her husband as if she were trying to rip his eyes out with her mind.

"Come on now, Mags," Don smiled, "Let's not make this nasty - we both know I can get what I need if I have to. Sue is still following you are like a lost puppy isn't she?"

"That is hardly--!"

"Maggie-" Nick warned sharply. She shut her mouth and crossed her arms tightly.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said suddenly.

Crowley glanced towards him.

"I'm sure that if you insist on fabricating indiscretions with nothing more than heresy we can return the favor, but the fact remains that the only solid piece of incriminating evidence is on this side of the table. I would suggest you accept our terms for a fair and reasonable division and we let this rest."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow in his direction and for a minute Sam could have sworn he felt a light hand brush over his leg under the table.

"Taught him a few tricks already?" Crowley asked.

"Quick study," Nick smiled.

"Well," Crowley said reaching inside his briefcase, "I really hoped it wouldn't have come to this but if you insist on complicating matters…"

He slid a paper across the table.

Nick casually reached inside his charcoal suit jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses. Large glasses. With rounded edges. And thick black frames… 

He lightly unfolded them and pushed the things over his nose.

Sam stared at him. Nick looked back apparently not seeming to think there was anything strange happening at all. And why would he? It's not like there was anything weird about someone suddenly needing glasses- glasses that were freakishly familiar. 

Nick nudged the paper towards Sam slightly and he managed to pull his attention away from his face and looked down to the sheet in front of him

"A summons?" Sam said, "For… harassment? And assualt!"

Crowley placed both hands neatly palm down on the glass table, "Miss. Klein - Mr. Starks long standing secretary has a number of valid complaints against Mrs. Stark for the frankly disgusting treatment she has received over the years--"

"Jenny?!" Maggie cried, "You're trying to use Jenny against me? Are you saying I don't have a right to express my distaste for a woman who is sleeping with my husband?"

"Oh!" Crowley said, "I'm sorry - I didn't realize you had the same indisputable proof of that allegation."

"It doesn't matter if there's proof: I know." Maggie spat.

"And if you were so sure, I'm sure many could sympathize with your reaction, but the truth is Mrs. Stark that even strong suspicions of infidelity do not excuse physical attacks, as I'm sure your council will confirm, attacks which the security footage from Stark Inc. will show to be particularly vicious in nature. Of course these charges can all be easily dropped if we reach a favorable agreement."

Nick pulled out another paper, "Records can be quite definitive, and although I have yet to press charges I believe a Sue Chambers would be happy to submit phone records which show several calls from Mr. Stark that could easily be considered threatening- possibly even harassment."

"Phone conversations are not quite on the same level as a physical attack--"

"And I also happen to have an affidavit from several young men stating that they were paid a considerable amount of money to vandalize several of Mrs. Stark's galleries - the damages for which could easily number in the tens of millions even with conservative estimates to the values--"

"Alright," Don growled, clenching his jaw firmly, "I believe you've made your point."

"Fine," Nick said, "Then perhaps we can start negotiations in a civil manner."

Crowley stood up sharply, "I think we're done here."

Sam stared, "We haven't even started to discuss--"

Don pushed his chair back and joined his council, "You heard him. We're done."

"Typical," Maggie scoffed, "Just run away, that's fine- you know you've lost."

"My client knows nothing of the kind," Crowley said with a small smile, "I'm sure you'll understand if we wish to discuss these recent developments and I'm sure Nick here would recommend you take the same course of action - no point in making these kinds of decisions under what could certainly be considered emotional distress."

"Nick--" Maggie began turning.

"It's fine," He said gently, "Let them talk, it won't change things for us."

He looked back to Crowley, "Isn't that right?"

The man gave him a smug look before snatching his briefcase off the table and following his client to the door.

"You'll be hearing from us- and if you delay those profit and loss statements from the Newbury St. gallery any longer - I will file a motion--"

"Stop that," Nick smiled, "You'll frighten Sammy."

"I'm not so sure," Crowley said giving him one more look, "He doesn't seem as if he scares all that easily."

He neatly shut the glass door behind him.

"Is that it?" Maggie asked turning to Nick desperately.

He sighed and leaned back, "For now."

"I thought with the photographs--"

"We are still ahead," Nick said, "Don't let him make you think we aren't."

"But those threats- could they seriously charge me with assault? Nick, my business- I cannot let that happen."

"Neither can I. And I won't, trust me Maggie."

She nodded but still looked quite worried.

Sam leaned over towards her, "Hey--"

She looked back at him.

"It will be fine, he can't hurt you without hurting himself- either way it's a loss. There's nothing to worry about."

Her smile widened and her shoulders seemed to relax as she looked back at him. Sam could feel Nick staring at him through those stupid glasses but he didn't return the favor.

"Yes," She smiled, "Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Can we get you a cab?" Nick asked.

"Yes, thank you."

"We'll call on, let me walk you to the elevators."

She stood up neatly, and cocked her head in Sam's direction, "Only if he can come."

"Of course he can," Nick said as he grabbed her coat and held it out politely.

She slipped it on, "You don't mind?" She asked Sam.

"What? Oh, no, no of course not," He smiled, "My pleasure."

He opened the door for her and she and Nick stepped out into the hall. Sam followed and they walked down the bamboo floors towards the waiting elevators as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder and buttoned her jacket.

"Do you think they will call?" She asked.

"Yes." Nick said.

"When?"

"Soon."

She rolled her eyes a little but smiled all the same.

They reached the elevators and Nick pressed the button.

"And you'll call me--"

"As soon as I hear anything."

She sighed a little and nodded.

"And don't forget about that painting," Nick said, "I have the perfect spot for it."

"I won't," She said, "But I can't hold it for more than a week."

"You won't have to."

"Does he like it?" She asked, bobbing her head towards Sam.

"I'm sure he will." Nick smiled.

Sam opened mouth to say something but what the hell was he supposed to say anyways and by then Maggie had already turned to him.

She laid a hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

"You're very lucky you know," She half-whispered, "He really is the best."

Sam's brain was trying to insist that she was referencing something professional.

The elevator dinged gently and the doors slid open. A tall dark haired man in a suit stepped out and she stepped in. She waved at Sam and he waved back, just noticing as the doors shut the concern on her face as she stared past him.

He turned to Nick questioningly but Nick wasn't looking at him- he was looking at someone else and the someone else was looking back.

It was the man from the elevator, standing hardly a few feet away. He wasn't young - but he wasn't old, about Nick's age probably. And he was tall - well not as tall as Sam, but tall enough… about Nick's height actually. It was easy enough to see more similarities. Their shoulders had the same proud shape to them and their mouths seemed the be hiding something but with the newcomer's it seemed to be a frown and with Nick's it seemed to be a smile… well, usually. The man's hair was black and Nick's was almost the opposite but the weight of it was the same, and there was something else that was strikingly similar, and that was the undeniable pure hatred pouring out of each of them.

Sam had to stop himself from physically backing away, an effort that everyone else in close proximity was not as successful in. The floor emptied slowly and after hardly a moment there was a neat circle around them. 

No one moved. Sam didn't even think anyone so much as breathed and then, as if none of it had happened the other man eased his glance away from Nick's, stared at Sam for a short moment and then turned his back and walked calmly back down the hall.

After a moment everyone else around them steadily began moving once more. Everyone except for Nick. He stood where he had been left, staring straight ahead as if the figure was still there. 

Sam didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch his arm but no, that wasn't right--

"Um…" He finally settled for.

Nothing.

"Nick?"

The image broke in one quick motion and suddenly he was facing him, face calm and smiling as if nothing had happened but no, not nothing, his eyes- there was still something very, very wrong…

"Are you alright?" Sam asked.

"We're going." Nick said.

"What?" Sam answered.

"Now. We're going. It's time for a break- I want a break. Do you play squash?"

"I-- what?" Sam stammered.

"Squash."

"Is that a…. sport?"

Nick stared for a moment.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Do you have clothes?"

"What, sport's clothes?"

"No, a ball-gown."

Sam sighed, "I have my workout bag if that's what you--"

"Get it. We're going."

"What? Now?" Sam called, but Nick was already half way down the hall.

Sam stared for a moment and then with a groan hurried back to his office, certainly not thinking about the massive pile of insanity he'd managed to fall directly into.

He made it there quick enough, trying to ignore the way Nick was tossing things into a duffle bag almost manically just through the glass wall. Sam had left his bag behind his desk so he hurried over, bent down to grab it, and--

"Buckle up Sammy: it's Muffin Time!" 

Sam spun just in time to see Dean jovially push the cart through the door with Cas (which was what Dean had been calling him and it had sort of rubbed off, not without a fair amount of teasing on Sam's part beforehand).

"I can't - I'm going--" Sam started.

"Muffins?" Gabe said, suddenly popping his head around the corner behind them.

"No!" Dean said sternly, swatting at him as if he was a brazen pigeon, "Jesus! You already had three,"

" _That_ is customer discrimination" Gabe scolded as he pushed his way past the cart into Sam's office.

" _That_ is strict instruction," Dean said.

Gabe turned to Cas with his best puppy eyes, which to his credit were pretty damn impressive.

"No," Cas said firmly, but Sam noticed that he avoided looking directly into the black hole of pity forming around Gabe's face.

"Fine," Gabe shrugged, waiting for Cas to turn back to Sam before reaching out for one but Dean batted his hand away.

"I can't have a muffin - I have to go." Sam said, suddenly irritated that three people and a cart were blocking his doorway.

"I'll have his, you wanted chocolate chip right Sam?" Gabe said reaching out again but Dean swiveled that cart between them.

"Where you going?" Dean asked with a little smile, "Playing hooky?" 

"No," Sam sighed, "Nick wants to go play something called squash."

Cas and Gabe's heads swiveled in his direction freakishly fast.

Dean scoffed, "What is that? A sport?"

"No." Said Cas and Gabe at the same time.

Sam stared, "It isn't…?"

"'Sport' implies a chance of competition," Cas said, "Not merely annihilation, and there's a difference between a sport and complete physical humiliation."

"Not in my book," Dean added to one side.

"Sam," Cas said gravely, "You should seriously consider refusing that invitation."

"How bad can it possibly be?" Sam laughed, "It's legal isn't it?"

"Not the way he plays," Gabe muttered.

"Ah, come on, Sammy can handle it," Dean smiled, "Want some pointers?"

Sam shook his head, "Dean, seriously? You never even played sports."

"Hell yeah I did!"

"Dodgeball does not count as sports."

Dean shot out an accusatory finger, "You take that right back!"

Cas turned towards him, "You participated in athletics?"

"No" said Sam, exactly as Dean said, "Yes."

"Dean," Sam sighed, "Violence and athleticism are not actually the same thing."

"That's what the losers say," Dean said.

"During my education they were often one in same," Cas said quietly.

"What'd you do?" Sam asked.

"He was a little boxer," Gabe smiled.

Dean turned on him, "You boxed?!"

Cas shrugged, "Yes."

"What, seriously?"

Cas was reddening a bit around the cheeks but Gabe looped an arm round his shoulder and gave him an affectionate pull, "Little Cassy here was lightweight champion for four years running at the Tightwad Academy."

Dean was staring at Cas like he'd found a unicorn and Sam could almost see the images that must have been pouring through his head: stringy limbed Cas smashing tight fisted punches into arrogant prep school shits until they fell down drooling blood and gently sobbing. And shit- he was never going to get another job now.

"What's that?" Gabe asked suddenly, pointing over towards Sam's desk.

Sam turned and saw a little pink sticky note stuck to the top. _Shit._

"Nothing," Sam muttered quickly, trying to get a grip on when the hell he'd had the time to leave that in here, "Look get out of here alright I have to go--"

But Dean's attention was caught now, "Is that a note? A pink one?"

He was already striding across the office with singular purpose.

Sam made a grab for him, "Seriously, Dean! Stop - it's nothing,"

But it was too late, he'd peeled it neatly off the desk and that obnoxious knowing smile spread over his face, "Oooh, I see--"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, snatching at it, but Dean had learned a long time ago how to dodge his long limbs and neatly slipped to one side which incidentally happened to be behind Cas.

" _'There's more where that came from'_ ," Dean read, "Sammy, shame on you, not telling me about your little office nooky on the side." 

"Dean--" Sam continued warningly.

"No, no," Dean laughed, "don't even try that, I am an expert in the female hand, and this one is just asking for it."

Gabe leaned over casually, got a look at the note, which he evidently recognized judging by the weird sort of choking noise that spewed out of him as he covered his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to contain his mirth. 

Sam shut his mouth tight and waited for it to be over.

"No seriously," Dean continued giving Gabe an accusing look, "See how she loops the 's' like that- and the way the letters slant, that means that she's the kind of chick that likes to act like she's totally in control but really wants a nice firm slam against the wall." 

Gabe exploded into laughter, catching the door frame to stop from falling right over.

Cas leaned back slightly to get a look himself.

"Dean," He began, "That's not--" 

"Okay!" Sam shouted, snatching the thing away, rolling it up into a tight ball and tossing it aside, "That's fine- I think we all get the point."

"What?" Dean asked with shock, "You're not going to answer that? Come on Sam, she seems like she'd show you a good time and you've been so high-strung, christ."

"Dean--" Cas warned again.

Gabe was wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes.

"If you're done?" Sam snapped at him.

"Oh, I'm so not," Gabe sighed.

"Ready?" Came the distinctive voice behind the cart.

They all turned. Nick was waiting, leaned casually against the door frame with a gym bag over one shoulder.

"Christ, Nick, have mercy on the poor thing," Gabe said, "I think everyone deserves a chance to go through life without their shins looking like some plague victim's."

"He'll have a chance, he can move can't he?"

"Barely," Dean scoffed. He glanced up at Nick, "Hey - nice glasses."

Nick turned slowly back to him with a little smile, "Thank you,"

"Yeah- they look really familiar," Dean insisted, "Like something out of some old movie--"

"Dean--" Sam began.

"No, no, seriously- I mean I know I'm no film buff or anything but they honestly do, like from one of those black and white things you made me watch when we were little," He said to Sam.

"Really?" Nick said casually, "What a strange coincidence."

"Okay," Sam interrupted snatching his bag off the floor and walking towards them.

"Take it easy on the kid, okay Nick?" Gabe said as he stepped to one side, "Let's try to keep his kneecaps intact."

"No promises."

"Hey!" Dean called as Sam and Nick turned down the hall, "You'll be back later right? Thanksgiving, remember, you said we could do something."

"I don't know Dean," Sam called back without hardly thinking, "There's still a lot of work. We'll see." And then they turned the corner and left them behind.

Dean stared after them for a moment before dropping his hand down to his side, muttering mostly to himself, "Not that it matters or anything…"

"Am I the only one who saw that?" Gabe was asking Cas just behind him.

"No," Cas said simply, edging the cart back out of Sam's office, "He must have seen him."

"What? Seen who?" Dean asked turning to them.

"Michael." Cas said.

"Oh," Dean answered, "Mr. Big Ol' Managing Partner?"

"Mr. At-Least-Hitler's-Trains-Ran-On-Time" Gabe muttered, "And just when I thought this week couldn't get any more fun…"

"So, no Thanksgiving planned for all of you this year?" Dean asked

"Not so much," Gabe smiled, "Doesn't mean I can't have my own friendly gathering of lovely little pilgrims and indians- I get a half-dozen discount, and the costumes came in bulk so--"

"Okay," Dean interrupted, "I got it." 

"Just saying, the utilitarian functions of a turkey baster are seriously underestimated."

"I said I got it!"

\---

Sam was still a little shaky by the time they made it to the court. He had thought that Dean was an aggressive driver but jesus fucking christ...

He'd assumed people who owned cars that expensive tended to take extra care but Nick didn't seem to fall into that category and they had made it across town in less than six minutes, even if Sam felt like his heart was stuck against the back seat and his stomach was soon going to be all over the dashboard. But as it turned out god was kind and they'd made it this far in one piece. 

Sam had muttered a quiet prayer when they'd told him wasn't allowed in the member's changing room because he'd had quite enough of topless men for one day. So he'd put on his shorts and T-shirt in peace and made it out to the court.

It was a bit weird- sort of just like an empty office with glass on one side and some lines on the floor.

There was a strange racket lying to one side of the court and Sam snatched it up, taking a few utterly and knowingly graceless swings. It was kinda like someone had taken a tennis racket and shrunk it and then stretched it out lengthwise. He picked up the small rubber ball lying on the floor and gave it a few experimental squeezes. He bounced it once on the floor. It sprang back responsively. He shrugged, spun his racket a few times, tossed the ball up in the air and gave it a hard smack.

It ricocheted off the wall so quickly Sam almost fell as he dodged it, only to have the thing come right back off the opposite wall and catch him squarely in the ribs.

A steady clapping sounded behind him as he groaned.

Sam turned, already feeling the shame slink up his face but that was instantly replaced with an intense effort to control his laughter.

Nick looked like something out of some 90's Gatorade commercial. His entire outfit was white, from the tiny little tennis shorts to the flat bottomed sneakers and the socks sticking out of them, up to the matching wrist and head bands. He even had one of those slightly too tight polo shirts made out of some kind of star trek material. 

"Well," Sam couldn't help smiling, "You certainly look ready to go."

Nick let himself smile back a little as he walked onto the court. He pulled another rubber ball out of his short's pocket, bounced it once and then in a freakishly graceful motion his whole body snapped into an arch as his back leg slipped behind the front, racquet slashing out in a smart curve to smack the ball against the wall. Sam barely had time to wince away in terror before he heard a smart smack of flesh and looked up to see that Nick had actually caught the thing on it's return journey from the wall.

"Ready?" He grinned.

Sam swallowed.

It took half an hour for Sam to feel like might actually die and another twenty minutes to be completely convinced of it. 

He was definitely going to have some bruises that broke personal records- two on the right side of his ribs, one directly in the middle of his back, at least five on his shins.

He'd actually managed to feel okay at the beginning. Nick had shown him the right way to hold the racquet and he'd even gotten the ball where he wanted it twice, maybe even three times, but then apparently the training stage had ended, and oh sweet lord he had never been so completely exhausted in his entire life. 

How could running around a what- a square space the size of his apartment bedroom- make you just want to collapse on the floor and slowly remember how to breathe? Well, that was if you weren't terrified that if you did you'd get a shockingly hard rubber ball directly in the center of your stomach and vomit on the spot.

"Service!" Nick called pleasantly and Sam hardly had time to turn before the ball crashed off the opposite wall with what was becoming a horrifically familiar sound and landed square in the center of his left knee.

He went down in single sweeping graceless motion.

"Shitshtishtishit--" He swore in one endless breathless stream as he rolled over onto his elbows and tucked his knee up towards his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw white sneakers stepping closer and had a strange flashing image of Gladiators in some 1960's movie crushing their fallen competitors with merciless blows, but the sneakers stopped and the knees bent and he heard a rather bored sigh.

"Come on, sit up properly."

Sam wanted to tell him to fuck off an leave him alone to die in peace but before he could do it he found his body doing what he asked, turning over and pulling himself back up, sitting with the injured knee bent upward.

He winced sharply and tried to get his breathing even, ignoring the way Nick was staring at him in that weird way he did with his head cocked a little as if somehow helped him see better. And then he was scooting a little closer and reached out a hand toward's Sam's leg.

"No," Sam tried, "It's fine, it's alright--" And he wanted to stand up but okay maybe it wasn't so fine and he still felt so exhausted that he might be sick and in the end he remained helplessly sitting where he was.

Nick clicked his tongue in a strangely gentle way and laid his hand on Sam's shin, running his thumb up to his knee and pressing it into the tendons with strong smooth circles.

Sam couldn't help groaning and hating himself for it, but it helped, it really did, and he let himself just shut up for a while and wait patiently while Nick's thumb eased the pain out of his knee.

"Sorry," Nick said.

Sam laughed, "Yeah."

Nick frowned a bit, "I mean it."

Sam said nothing.

He watched as the little rubber ball rolled calmly across the smooth wooden floor.

"She liked you," Nick said quietly.

Sam opened his eyes and glanced back at him, "Who?"

Nick raised his eyebrows a bit, "The client."

"Oh," Sam said, "Well… I'm glad."

Nick smiled.

"You did well."

Sam stared at him, "Really?"

"Mmm," He answered, working his thumb a bit deeper. Sam winced but after the first few strokes the pain eased away as if it had never been there.

Sam watched his hand, feeling his breath even steadily in his chest.

"That was Michael, wasn't it? At the elevator?"

Sam hadn't meant for his voice to sound so loud. Maybe it was just the court, but it was strange in any case.

Nick's hand stopped moving. Sam looked at him. He was still looking at his hand on his knee. Sam shifted it a bit and Nick's eyes moved to him.

"Yes." He answered.

Sam swallowed, "Is he going to fire me?"

Nick smiled, "No."

Sam looked down at his shoes.

"Good," He said finally.

It was quiet for a moment.

Nick stood up rather suddenly, pulling hand away from Sam's knee and righting himself in one smooth motion. 

"Come on, let's get back." Nick said.

He offered a hand to Sam and Sam took it, letting him pull him to his feet altogether too easily to be comforting.

"Thank god," Sam smiled as he stood.

He moved to turn away but Nick was still holding onto his hand so he slowed. 

"He's hiding something," Nick said.

Sam stared, "What?"

"Your brother. He's hiding something from you."

Sam pulled his hand away, trying to muffle the little flare of rage in his chest, "Is that right?"

"Yes," Nick said simply, turning around to pick his racquet up off the floor and toss a towel over his shoulder.

"And how would you know something like that?"

Nick looked at him firmly, "Practice."

Sam stared back for a moment before turning and heading towards the guest locker room- trying to ignore the icy feeling that was sneaking up along the back of his gut. 

\---

It was almost five by the time Dean got back from the final snack run to the associate's offices, and it was already just about dark outside the tall cold windows. It never got dark this fast out west, and although at first the cold had bugged him he was starting to like it more than he should. There was something weirdly comforting about it - like it almost reminded you that you were alive.

He kicked the door to the storage closet open with the back of his foot and pulled the cart in after him.

He could hear Cas going through his weird organization rituals around the corner.

"Hey!" He called, "I just want to run and make sure Sammy's ready to go and then I'll stop back and help you close up--"

"Oh," Cas muttered, hurrying out from around the bend, looking awkwardly at the floor, "Umm…"

Dean let go of the cart.

"He canceled. Didn't he?"

Cas sighed and his shoulders drooped pitifully, "I'm so sorry Dean."

"Why?" Dean snapped, rolling his apron up angrily and chucking it into a shelf, "It's not your fault."

He could feel Cas stepping up behind him with the stupid concerned look on his face.

"He was disappointed you weren't here so he couldn't tell you himself… He said he was sorry, there was just a lot--"

"Of work to get done, yeah I know." Dean said, angrily sitting down in one of the folding chairs they kept around and leaning down with his elbows on his knees. 

It was fine to be mad at him- he was allowed that wasn't he? Even if (heck, maybe because) Sam was really the one who had the right to be pissed off… But he didn't know, did he? Their dad hadn't talked to their mom for years and she's the only one who would have told him so… So, fine.

Cas was still looking at him but Dean ignored it.

"Here," Cas said suddenly, as if just remembering something. Dean looked up as the lithe body dodged away down towards where they kept the big refrigerator at the back of the room. 

Cas shuffled around inside of it for half a minute and then emerged obviously holding something. He turned back to face Dean with a pie in each hand.

Dean couldn't help laughing and Cas' face shone as he did.

He stepped back to him balancing them carefully.

"You remembered pie," Dean smiled.

"Well, it would be hard to forget after seventeen individual reminders in the course of one week," Cas smiled shyly.

Cas shifted on his feet slightly, "I-- I was going to give them to you when you went home but…"

He frowned a little staring down at the pies.

"Well," Dean started, "You weren't going anywhere were you?"

"I have no plans." Cas said, "Besides properly organizing the recycling--"

"That can wait," Dean said, standing up and taking the apple. Definitely the apple.

"We are going to sit down, and eat this pie, and have some thanksgiving." He said proudly.

Cas furrowed his brow, "Isn't pie traditionally enjoyed after the rest of the meal?"

"Fuck that," Dean grinned, "We're having pie. And it's going to be awesome."

"If you wish." Cas said simply.

"I do wish." Dean grinned, holding out a hand, "Fork me!"

Cas stared.

Dean sighed, "Forks Cas, we need forks."

"Right," He muttered, hurrying over to a shelf and pulling down a few.

He slid right back, handed one to Dean, and stood in front of him examining the pie like it was some sort of archeological dig.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean laughed, "Sit down, you can't eat pie standing up."

Cas glanced around bashfully, found another one of their folding chairs and pulled it neatly up beside his.

"Cheers," Dean smiled, knocking the metal of his pie tin against Cas' with a neat little clang.

He dove the fork directly into the middle of the pie, forked out a heaping pile of soft apple and flaky crust and shut his eyes as he drove it home.

The sound he let out wasn't entirely decent. In fact it was pretty much completely indecent.

"Do you like it?" He heard Cas ask gently (his eyes were too far rolled back in his head to see him).

Dean laughed, "Uh- yeah."

He didn't need to look to feel him smiling, "Good," Cas said, "I can make more."

"Damn straight you can make more," Dean said shoveling another bite into his mouth, turning to look sideways at Cas as he took neat little bites with his legs crossed gently together.

"Dean," Cas said.

"Mm?"

Cas wiggled a bit and then continued, "You shouldn't be angry with Sam."

Dean snorted a bit and took another bite.

"Truly," Cas continued looking at him now, "Any new associate at this firm or any other of equal repute would be putting in just as many hours, at the very least."

Dean sighed, "Yeah, I know."

Cas rolled his fork around his fingers, "You still care for one another."

"Yeah, well he's my brother- isn't that how that works?"

"Not here." Cas said quietly.

Dean looked at him, "You seem alright- you and Gabe and even Nick seems okay."

"It has been a struggle." Cas sighed, "And not without wounds, some of which I am sure will never fully heal. Michael… is difficult, and he has never truly forgiven me, nor do I think he will."

"Forgiven you?" Dean said, "What? Did you break his Mussolini action figure?"

"I'm afraid it was a more severe offense than that." Cas said, "An offense that many still consider punishable."

"Does this have to do with that guy whose office you won't let me drive the cart by?" Dean asked, mouth still half full.

"Raphael, yes," Cas said, "He does not take well to reminders of my continued presence here."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I was fired."

"From where?"

"From here."

Dean stared, "You worked here? As a lawyer?"

"No," Cas said, "I managed the accounts."

"And you were fired? But you still… run the snack cart? How the hell does that even work?"

"There are those who wished it didn't."

"This Raphael chump?"

"For one, but Gabriel and Nicholas were insistent and I'm sure you know that Nick can be quite stubborn when he means to and Gabriel can be… difficult and in the end a solution was formed."

Dean scooted a little to face him better, "But- I mean with all that crap you didn't want to just go somewhere else?"

"There was a time when I did…"

"But--"

"But," Cas smiled weakly, "In the end, they are my family, and I suppose I have no one else."

Dean watched him and tried not to think how stupidly perfect that all sounded.

"Well," He said finally, "I guess I'm glad you stayed."

"Why's that?" Cas asked earnestly staring back at him with those damn eyes.

"Because," Dean let himself smile, "This is some damn good pie."


	4. Chapter 4

The hot water was just starting to whistle as Dean turned the corner into the kitchen and tugged it off the burner.

"SAMM-AY!" He called over his shoulder, "Coffee!"

There was some fumbling in the bathroom, Dean ignored it. Sam kept the water running to try and mask the sound of that damn hair dryer, as if he didn't think that Dean had noticed. He'd hid the thing in one of the lower drawers under the sink which was just laughable, but Dean would save that one for a rainy day.

The water shut off behind the bathroom door as Dean neatly poured the french-press full. 

"Come on! Hustle!"

The bathroom door shoved open clumsily.

"Mom, I said it's okay -- I --- No… No… Look, it's fine, I told you, it's totally normal for new associates to work hours this long--"

_Shit._

Dean turned away, trying to look as consumed as possible in the coffee. 

"Yeah… yeah, I know." Sam said into the phone, giving Dean a look, rolling his eyes with a smile. Dean ignored him.

"Mom, you know I'd love to see you - it's just busy, I don't know how much fun you'd have visiting--"

Dean stared as hard as he could at the swirling grounds spiraling about in the hot water. No - screw it--

He pushed out of the kitchen towards his coat hanging by the door. 

"Sammy, I'll see you in the car--"

"Whoa, Dean!" Sam called, suddenly waving at him, "Yeah- yeah, he's right here- Dean! Dean hold on, Mom's on the phone."

His stupid arm was caught in his coat, "Look Sammy- we really have to go--"

"What are you talking about? Jesus, just hold on a sec -- yeah, yeah, he's right here, he's just being an idiot--"

Sam lumbered towards him and held the phone out towards his face and dammit his arm was still stuck in the stupid jacket--

"Sammy--"

"What's your problem? Here--" He said shoving the phone right at his head.

"Hey--!" His arm popped free from the coat all at once, elbow shooting up and slamming the phone out of Sam's hand.

They both stared at it in equal shock but it took hardly a moment before Dean snatched the keys and turned back towards the door

"Sorry," He mumbled, "Come on, let's go." 

Sam was already turning towards the phone on the floor, "What the hell was that?"

"It was an accident- look are we going?"

Sam caught it up again, "Hello? Hello? Mom? She's not there."

"It's fine," Dean insisted, "You can call her back later."

Sam turned on him, "What was that? What's wrong with you? You can't say 'hello' for christ's sake--"

"I don't know Sammy," Dean said, trying to keep the squirming rage coming to life in his chest as far away from his voice as possible, "She's going to ask about Dad and the fight and I just can't deal with that."

Sam sighed in that sympathetic exhausted way of his, and Dean knew he'd bought it- and it's not like it was a complete lie anyways. He didn't want to talk to mom. He didn't want to talk about Dad - it just so happened that Dad wasn't the only one he was pretty damn pissed off at and he wasn't planning on dealing with that until at least thinking about it didn't set his chest on fire.

"Well," Sam said, shoulders drooping like they always did when he thought the weight of all their fucked up shit was slipping down over them, "You're going to have to talk to her at some point."

"Yeah, well some point isn't now. Can we go?"

"I think you fucked up my phone…" He muttered staring at the screen and turning it back and forth.

"So buy a new one, you can afford it." Dean grumbled.

"Dean!"

"Hey- look, I'm sorry okay, Jesus! Can we just, please, go - if I hold the door open any longer my freaking arm's gonna fall off."

"What about the coffee?" Sam said staring at it.

"Whatever - there's plenty at work."

"Okay… but if you wanted, we could sit down and talk a bit and--"

Dean slammed the door behind him.

\-----

Sam had decided it was probably best not to speak in the car. A decision apparently supported by Dean who played Sabbath about four notches louder than usual as if to dissuade any form of attempted conversation.

But that was fine - it's not like he _had_ to know or anything like that. It's not at all like he was listening to Nick about anything even close to touching his personal life. Not that he really had a personal life these days- what with having all of his meals in the office and sometimes even sleeping there- face accidentally slammed down over the glass top of the desk, which would have even been okay if he sometimes didn't wake up to a pink sticky-note on his forehead covered with increasingly horrible things written, or, in the case of three days ago, artistically rendered.

"Sam Winchester?" 

Sam turned to see a quaint small blonde woman staring up at him, "Yes?"

"You are Sam Winchester?"

"…Yes."

"Mr. Lucius would like to see you in his office."

Sam stared at her for a moment.

"Mr…"

She rolled her eyes as if he was being clueless purely to spite her, "Mr. Michael Lucius."

_Fuck._

"Oh."

She stared at him.

He stared back.

"He's waiting now."

"Right- yeah, umm, okay."

What the hell was he supposed to do? Well… there really wasn't much of a choice of what to do. It was the managing partner. He'd asked to see him. He had to see him- even if he would rather just carefully step back into the elevator and pretend it never happened. Did Nick know? Would it be crazy to claim some sort of urinary emergency and try to find him first--

" _Now._ "

"Yes, okay!" Sam said, falling into motion and hurrying down the hall just in front of the assistant's tight little steps.

He could still find some way to get out of this - try to make a break for it, but he had a freaky sensation that the woman behind him would lash out some six foot long tongue, wrap it around his ankle, and drag him kicking and screaming into Michael's office wether he wanted it or not.

And that must be it - right ahead down the hall, the corner office that had hadn't seen used all this time, and shit who's idea was it to put the thing so close to the elevators? They'd hardly been walking for a minute! What the hell was he going to do here? Why the hell did he want to see him? The image of Zachariah's fat smug smile wafted in front of him and he felt like he might be sick, and jesus it was too late for even that, her hand was on the door, she was pulling it open--

Sam stared around behind him desperately looking for something, anything. Just down the hall Gabe strutted around the corner - Sam met his eyes for a split terror-clogged second and then the woman lightly but firmly shoved him inside the room and shut the door behind him.

It clicked neatly shut and Sam suddenly felt wretchedly and desperately alone. And the worst part was he wasn't alone. It didn't feel like there was anyone there- it felt like standing in a room with a stone sculpture that you knew wasn't really alive but still had a creepy sensation that it was watching you all the same. Only sculptures didn't talk.

"Sam Winchester?"

But if they did - they would totally talk like that.

"Yes, Michael-- I mean, Mr. Lucius," Sam corrected frantically.

The man sat up straighter at his desk. There was still quite a bit of space between them but Sam could see him better now than he had in that quick panic filled moment outside the elevators. There were some strong similarities he hadn't noticed before - the heaviness to the brow, weirdly that was something Gabe and Cas sort of had as well, but the strongest semblance was a bit lower, in the eyes that seemed like if you looked at them too long they'd take something away from you you never even knew could go away.

But god, they were so different too - in so many ways everything about him seemed completely and utterly opposite, the way he was sitting for one. If someone was to walk into each of their offices- one with Nick sprawled across his chair and desk like a big stoned tiger, and the other with this guy, who looked like he came with the chair as part of an IKEA set, they could never guess they were even the same species.

The offices alone were starkly different-- Nick's office was this sort of amalgam of messy utilitarian nonsense. It was books and papers and not much else besides the worn in leather chair and the clumsy old desk. The bookcase was pretty much a wreck and his desk was so drenched in papers most of time and Sam was convinced that he didn't have a legal secretary because only he could possibly navigate the labyrinth of that mess, and Sam really didn't want to imagine what would happen if someone tried to sort it out for him. The words: cold, dead, rage came to mind. 

But here… it was pristine. Freakishly so, weirdly so. And not in a good way, or even an acceptable way. Cas' little coffee cart storage closet was organized to all hell, but it wasn't like this. You could feel something else when you went into that little space of Cas', with the neatly stacked cups and filed syrups and beans; it felt warmer, like there was something behind it all. This place didn't have that. It felt cold and hollow and utterly loveless and careless. It was like someone had picked each bit of icy ornamentation for the single purpose of presenting a very specific image and none of it had anything else behind it… well, except for the plain wooden crucifix in the very center front of the desk, which was giving Sam the edgy feeling of imminent judgement.

"Please." The man said in that voice that really felt like the exact opposite of a request.

Sam saw a rather posh looking chair across from the desk, made his way over, and sat down. It felt like it was designed to be clinically uncomfortable.

The man continued to stare at him, directly.

Sam shifted a bit, "You, wanted to see me?"

"Yes."

Nothing.

Sam knitted his hands together on his lap and decided to try and think about other things and wait for this to be over.

"Nick has made you his associate." Michael said finally.

"Yes, that's right." Sam said.

"And how long had you been working at this firm before that position was awarded to you?"

Sam swallowed, "Well, about, maybe… fifteen minutes?"

"I see."

Silence.

"Had you been acquainted with him before then?"

"No," Sam said and then tried to smile, "I mean how could I have been, he was--"

Michael stared.

Sam shut up.

"Balthazar hired me." Sam rallied.

"Yes, I know." Michael said, "I do not think he was mistaken in that action."

Sam couldn't help feeling the iron go out of his shoulders a bit.

"You seem to be a very competent young man." Michael said as simply as if he was telling him he was taller than average.

"Thank you." Sam managed.

"I do not have an associate." Michael said, face hardly moving.

"Oh..."

"How would you like to work for me?"

The tension was back, and the sickness, and the terror, and jesus--

"Oh, I umm--" Sam scrambled. Why the hell did he walk into the room? He should have ran and grabbed onto Gabe's suit jacket and refused to let go until he was as far away from that office as possible.

"I… I don't know. I've been working with Nick that would seem--"

"Seem what?" Michael asked, still staring at him, directly at him with eyes that seemed like if he wanted to they could melt through metal.

"Seem… weird?"

Michael placed one hand on the desk between them, "Sam, Nick is not good for someone like you."

"I… what?"

"He is a dangerous influence and emotionally unstable. I am concerned for you, as a young lawyer at this firm, concerned for the influences he might invoke."

Sam felt a little tingle of anger at the back of his neck, "I assure you, I'm quite capable of holding my own against influences."

"I would not be so sure." Michael said sternly, "He is a severely damaged individual and has had a detrimental effect on many over the years."

"I'll be fine." Sam said with a sudden firmness to his voice he hadn't expected.

Michael looked at him for a moment and then pulled his hand back from the desk.

"I see. Well… I am afraid that he has breached regularity in assigning you this position, and it has compromised the integrity of the firm. I shall have to put you where you should have been assigned, as a associate available to assist any partners with their needs under Zachariah's supervision."

"I'm sorry," Sam scoffed, "I thought you were just asking me to be your associate."

"I was."

"And does that not qualify as the same 'integrity compromising' behavior?"

Too far. He knew instantly. Too damn far. But he couldn't help it. He was angry, more angry than he had been for a while and he didn't know why.

"Perhaps I have reconsidered that decision." Michael said.

There was suddenly a voice in the hall, Sam turned just in time to see the door push open as Gabe's voice called out frantically--

"Jesus, Nick, don't just - just give it a minute! Don't just-- _shiiit_ ,"

Nick poured into the room and Sam almost winced at the look on his face… well would have winced, if he could stop staring at it. He'd always had a sneaking suspicion (okay- raging suspicion) that his face could look like that if he wanted it to, but now, actually seeing it, it was almost addictively terrifying, like how when he was was five or six and staying at Bobby's he and Dean had looked up all the most terrifying things they could in his old books just to see how long they could stare at them for.

"Sam, we're leaving." Nick said. But he wasn't look at him, he was looking at Michael.

"You are leaving," Michael said neatly, hardly glancing as Gabe stumbled in the door behind them, "But you will have quite separate destinations."

"He's mine." Nick said.

A sharp sensation slithered up Sam's back but he tried to ignore it.

"Not any more." Michael said.

"Jesus, do you two have to start already?" Gabe sighed, Sam glanced at him and suddenly realized that for maybe the first time since he'd known him he wasn't smiling. He looked tired, and almost old, and something else, something worse.

They ignored him. He looked like he'd expected it.

"A senior partner has the right to select his own associates." Nick said laying a hand on the back on Sam's chair.

Sam tried to resist the urge to hide behind it.

"Only," Michael correctly smoothly, "If that decision is approved by the managing partner."

"And in the absence of the managing partner the decision shall be approved by the presiding senior partner."

"And I'm fine with it, jesus can we just let it go- just let him have him, Michael, why the hell does it matter?" Gabe sighed.

Michael stared at him solidly for a moment, "I'm sorry Gabriel, I was under the impression that you no longer wished to be an effective part of this firm."

The room went cold for a moment.

Nick was staring at Michael as if he was ready to hit him but Gabe looked like he'd taken the blow already.

"That's enough Michael." Nick growled.

"Are we denying the obvious?" Michael answered simply, "I'm sure our brother is not under any false illusions of his utility, in fact I know he has taken pains to minimize it."

"If you think that I am going to stand in a room each day and watch you two scream at each other without checking out--" Gabe said quietly, staring hard into his brother's face.

"You did check out. That much is apparent and has been for some time." Michael said, turning away as if his brother was nothing more than an assistant setting his lunch appointments, "But Nick has not had his confirmation so--"

"Raphael confirmed." Nick said.

Michael stared at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Raphael confirmed my associate."

"I'm not sure I believe that." Michael said steadily.

"Well, it happened, with or without your belief. But I wouldn't give him too rough of a time over it, he seemed slightly overwhelmed at the time."

Michael looked at Nick for a long moment and then carefully moved his attention to Sam.

"Sam, do you wish to continue as Nick's associate?"

"Yes." Sam said. Far, far faster than he'd meant to.

And for a moment, in the close quiet of the room all he heard was his own voice echoing back and forth in his mind.

Nick's hand tightened on his shoulder quickly, snapping him back to the present, "We're going."

Sam stood up quickly, Nick turned him sharply towards the door, Gabe was already half way out of it.

"That's fine," Michael said calmly, "You can have him. But, I should inform you that a sudden possessive need for an associate seems almost erratic… some might argue imbalanced."

Nick stopped for a moment and turned back to him.

"Perhaps I've changed."

Michael smiled. 

It wasn't right - like he'd learned it from diagrams in a book.

"You'll never change." Michael said, "Weren't those your words, Nick? After the deposition?"

Sam felt Gabe stop and look back at Nick but he didn't have time to look himself because Nick's strong hand was placed firmly into his lower back, pushing him easily out the door.

It shut cleanly behind them.

Gabe was already half way down the hall.

"Gabriel," Nick called.

He spun back toward them, one hand pointed, "Don't."

"You can't blame me for him," Nick said.

"I don't," Gabe said, "I blame you for you."

And then he was turned once again and gone around the corner.

Sam didn't know where to look. He had a strong sort of sick feeling that he just saw something he really shouldn't have and really did not need to and now there was just nothing but this thick wretched weight to the air.

"Nick--" He tried.

The man spun on him faster than Sam would have believed and he almost yelled when he snatched his arm. Hard.

"Jesus!"

"You will not speak to him without telling me first." Nick said in a quiet voice that felt altogether louder than it should have that close to him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

Sam felt that same dark spark of anger slip up his throat, "I'm not a child - I am capable of handling myself."

"Yes, I saw that." Nick said with a glare.

Sam felt his neck heat up with shame but couldn't say anything back so he contented himself with a glare of his own.

"Do you understand me?" Nick asked, tightening his grip on his arm.

Sam winced a bit but finally gave one nod.

"Good."

Nick's hand loosened, but didn't leave it. Sam could feel his thumb run back and forth once, like it had smoothed the pain out of his knee and then the cool pressure of his hand was gone.

Behind them Sam heard the assistant's intercom click on.

"Claire," Michael's voice echoed mechanically out of, "Could you please inform Raphael I would like to speak with him?"

"We'd better go," Nick said, smile slipping easily back over his face.

"Please," Sam smiled back, hurrying down the hall.

"We have to be in court in half and hour anyways--"

"…What?"

\---

Sam's heart was beating so hard he could hardly hear the bustling voices, echoing marble floors, squeaking dress shoes sounding through the court house around him. He tapped his foot frantically up and down, glancing over to where Nick was standing with his arms outstretched, smiling charmingly at the security guard as he ran a metal detector over him.

He gave Sam a look as the man passed the thing up his leg and Sam glanced away sharply.

"You're good." The guard muttered and Nick stepped lightly away.

"Alright?" He asked, walking past Sam and taking up a pace down the marble hallway a good deal too quick for Sam's nerves.

"No!" Sam whispered harshly, taking one step to catch up with him, "What the hell about this did you think would make me alright?"

"Don't be nervous," Nick smile, leaning in closer, "I'll drive."

And pinched him. Actually fucking _pinched him_.

Sam jumped half a foot as Nick started giggling next to him, never slowing pace.

"Jesus!" Sam snapped, "For fuck sake - never, _never_ do that again!"

Nick turned and gave him a pout from under his glasses, which he insisted on continuing to wear and Sam wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of asking him to stop because he knew how that conversation would end up going, and starting it with an admission that they made him squirmy as fuck was not a good way to start.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam hissed.

"Well, if I told you you might not have jumped quite so high--"

"About the hearing!"

"Oh, that, well come on, I wouldn't want you worrying about it."

"Great!" Sam almost yelled, "Well, you did a fantastic fucking job!"

"Sam," Nick tsked, "Language. Keep your mouth that dirty through those doors and good ol' Judge will have you on contempt," He leaned into him slightly, "Not that I mind,"

"Oh my god," Sam muttered half to himself, staring around wildly, "I can't do this-- the client will be there, the CEO! And opposing council and-- I haven't prepared, just let me go back to the office and--"

"No chance," Nick laughed, "Come one, everyone has a first time,"

And then the doors were in front of them and Nick was shoving them both open with one strong push.

The courtroom opened up before them. It was just a courtroom. But somehow that made it worse.

"I'm going to be sick," Sam said.

"Just not on the client," Nick answered, and after a moment, "Or the judge…"

"Fuck."

"Not now, dear."

Nick stepped down the aisle towards the tables. Sam watched him for a moment, took one deep, shaky breath, and followed as quickly as he could.

"Mr. Roman," Nick smiled easily, extending a hand towards the man who stood from the table.

"Nick!" The man said, snatching his hand firmly, "It's good to see you again."

He turned to Sam who was trying his best not to imagine scenes out of American Psycho looking at this guy.

"Is this the 'Sammy' I've been hearing so much about?"

"Sam," Sam corrected without thinking as he took his outstretched hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Roman."

"Dick," The man smiled with too many teeth, "Please."

Nick glanced at Sam, "Same."

"What's that?" Dick asked turning.

"Sam!" He smiled, "If you wouldn't mind preparing the necessary materials?"

"What? Oh! Yes, yeah, of course," Sam said as he pushed his briefcase onto the table and started rifling through some of their material.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long, "Nick said as he moved towards his own seat.

"Oh no, traffic was a bitch, but what else is new?" Dick said sitting down and leaning back casually.

"You know you didn't have to come yourself," Nick said, "I'm sure you have many demands on your time."

"Nonsense!" Dick said with a wide grin, "The integrity of our company and our products is of primary importance to me. I want to be ensured that everything is proceeding cleanly."

Sam tried to keep his breathing level.

"Anyways," Dick continued, "There doesn't seem to be too much of a rush - opposing council isn't even hear yet. I wouldn't be worried about them, they switched representation yesterday."

"What?" Nick said suddenly snapping his attention to him.

"Hadn't you heard?" Dick asked with a raised brow, "That's a good sign. Isn't it?"

The doors at the back of the room shoved open cleanly and the sound of heels snapped over the floor.

Sam turned to look and saw a woman walking towards them, blonde hair bouncing with each step and… other things that were pretty prominently on display. She had a wide plump mouth and huge shining eyes and it all came together with the intent of her posture and the slink of her shoulders to create something predatory.

Sam stood up and glanced and Nick. He hadn't turned, he leaned on the table, shut his eyes, and let out a sigh.

He looked at Sam, "I'm sorry." He said

"For what?"

"I shouldn't have brought you."

"Nicky!" A lilting voice called.

Dick glanced from Nick to the woman and back again.

"Do you know her?"

Nick turned carefully.

The woman smiled up at him, teeth shining through her wide lips, "Intimately."

"Hello, Lilith," Nick said, "Shouldn't you be out spending my money on orphans?"

"I do enjoy some charitable work."

"Not what I meant."

Dick stood up, "What's going on here? Who's this?"

"I'm his wife," Lilith smiled.

Nick smiled down at her, "I don't know if it really counts if you're only married for three days, even if you cram the arguments of a fifty year marriage into them."

Lilith smiled, "Oh Nick, you know how all those fights ended… you must, at least the one where you broke that box spring. How much did we owe on that room in the end?"

"Six thousand seven hundred thirteen dollars and eighty six cents."

"I see the memories grow fonder,"

"Only when tabulated in the settlement papers."

"Oh dear," She said letting her lower lip slip out just a tad, "So bitter…"

She reached a hand up and Sam thought he saw Nick flinch quickly before she ran the back of her knuckles just over his cheek.

"And you used to be such fun…"

"Excuse me," Sam heard himself say, instantly regretting it as all the attention turned on him with quiet intensity.

"Ermm," He managed, "I think we should probably… you know…"

"What's that?" Lilith asked, still staring at Sam.

"Sam is my associate." Nick said.

She was still staring at him and it really shouldn't have felt as violating as it did, "You don't have associates."

"I'm sorry," Nick smiled turning to her, "I didn't realize you knew me so well."

"And you don't wear glasses."

Nick shrugged, "Must be getting old."

"Which inconsistency is that an explanation for?" She grinned, "Not that I object, not with that nice strong frame."

"Nick," Dick broke in sharply, "A moment?"

"Of course," He said turning.

Lilith winked at Sam as she turned towards her own table.

"What the hell was that?" Dick asked, still smiling, and the combination of his tone and that face was distinctly creepy.

"Nothing," Nick said almost sternly turning back to the desk.

"Don't bullshit me," Dick said.

Nick stared at him calmly, "It's fine. I said it was nothing. It is nothing."

"I don't like surprises, Nick."

"Neither do I, not particularly - but it's less disturbing when they are of little consequence."

"Should we ask for a continuance?" Sam said.

Nick's stare screamed murder.

"Sorry," Sam muttered.

"ALL RISE!"

Sam's heart jumped half way up his throat as the doors opened and the judge bustled into the room and plopped down behind the bench. He was a rather tired middle aged guy who looked like he needed about four cups coffee in the morning and even then they day was a constant struggle for enthusiasm.

"SucroCrop v. Johnson, Judge Samson presiding!" The voice called.

The judge settled deeper into his chair and sighed as glanced down at the papers in front of him and then pushed them back neatly.

"Miss--"

Lilith stood up neatly, "Lucius, your honor."

The judge looked over toward their table, "And… Mr. Lucius?"

"Yes, your honor," Nick said, also standing.

The judge stared for a moment, "… Alright."

Dick groaned a little where he sat.

"Miss Lucius," The judge continued, "Can you tell me why I shouldn't toss this suit out right this second?"

Sam almost sighed but managed to keep a lid on it, nevertheless noting the way Dick seemed to ease against his chair.

"Certainly your honor," Lilith continued smoothly, "My client here and thousands of others like him have been gravely and dangerously misused by Mr. Roman and his corporation," She said, gesturing to the bearded man beside her that Sam surprisingly just now noticed. He stared around emptily at the surrounding, the chair creaking under his girth as he adjusted positions.

"Miss. Lucius, eating nothing but food packed with a product known to have detrimental effects to your health can easily be considered reprehensible, but I do not see how the fault lies with the corporation rather than the consumer."

"A corporation such as Mr. Roman's has an invested interest in a continuance of this behavior, and this suit will show that they have taken extensive measures to ensure that their products become a regular habit in their costumers lives, a habit that ultimately ends in massive bodily harm--"

"Your honor," Nick said, voice strong but calm, and easily filling the room, "I enjoy a candy bar every now and again as much as anyone, but to claim that desire is intentionally honed with malicious intent is frankly preposterous."

"I have to agree with Mr. Lucius, councillor," The judged sighed,

"As would I your honor," Lilith said smoothly, "If it were not for SucroCrops pharmaceutical affiliations."

She held up a paper, "May I?"

The judge gave her a wave as his eyes narrowed, "Approach."

"What the hell is that?" Dick hissed.

"You tell me," Nick said.

Lilth's heels echoed through the room as she stepped towards the bench, leaning over slightly, and handed the judge the papers.

"As I'm sure you can see, this is research from SucroCorp's affiliated pharmaceutical company, a company also owned by Mr. Roman. It clearly demonstrates studies done on the addictive and 'pacifying' qualities of certain pharmaceutical compounds--"

"I'm sorry, is it illegal for pharmaceutical companies to pursue perfectly standard medical research?" Nick insisted.

"It is not," Lilith continued, "But when that research involves particular consideration for combinations with a corn syrup based product it might suggest that there were undeclared objectives to the development."

Sam stared from Nick to Lilith and then without thinking stood up, "Your honor, corn syrup is a normal additive to many over the counter pharmaceutical products that Mr. Roman's company produces. That research could directed be towards any unrelated matter."

The judge stared at Sam for a moment and then looked back at the papers.

"Your honor-" Nick started.

"I want to hear what this Dr. Zeke has to say." The judge said.

"But your honor, the claims--" Nick pushed.

"Mr. Lucius - this report suggests that not only was the research done but that it was requested with specifications towards SucroCrops products. This leave me seriously questioning the integrity of the studies."

"Those reports could be from any number of--"

"Enough." The judge said firmly, lazily knocking the gavel, "Court shall reconvene to hear witness testimony two weeks from today."

"Your Honor-" Sam tried.

"Did you not hear the gavel?" The judge said, already standing.

Lilith turned easily, "See you boys soon,"

\---

"No, Cas, the yogurt does not 'disseminate in a chaotic fashion'." Dean insisted, leaning on the cart with his elbows and pushing it forward with the weight of body as he walked, Cas stepped lightly beside him.

"If it is being propelled mechanically in a rapid circular motion I fail to see how that would not be the result."

"You have a top on it! It's not like they'd sell you something that would explode every time you used it. I still can't believe you've never used a blender--"

"How are the pieces of fruit macerated to the necessary extent?"

"Wellll--" Dean trailed, already dreading the response he knew was inevitable, "There's sort of this series of spinning blades that chop everything up."

Cas stared at him in horror, "…Spinning blades?"

"Yup."

"That you… place your hand between?"

"No!" Dean sighed, "No, not while it's moving - it's fine, it's totally fine Cas, just trust me, it would be great."

"But, what if the cart was disturbed on it's path and the 'top' was jostled, freeing the yogurt and the spinning blades in an erratic fashion."

Dean could feel the laughter building in his chest but he tried to keep it down for the sake of explaining clearly, "I really don't know if that's going to be a problem. There isn't exactly terrain in here- I don't think there needs to be a concern of 'jostling'."

The cart turned a corner and stopped so fast that most of the muffins tumbled down onto the floor, Cas' neatly stacked cups collapsed over the side, and Dean, catching the bar in the stomach stumbled and slipped over.

"Dean," Cas said with sudden concern, catching his arm as he started to fall, "Are you alright?"

"Okay," Dean grumbled, "I guess you could call that a jostle--"

"You should watch where you're going." Said a cold voice.

Dean was already pulling himself upright, "What the hell did you just say?"

"Dean--" Cas warned.

But he was standing now and he saw well enough what had happened. A suited man with a face like a rock was standing with his foot neatly against the front of the cart.

"Alright." Dean said calmly.

He looked down at the muffins still rolling slightly with the sipped cups over the floor.

"Are you going to pick those up?" Dean asked.

"Excuse me?" The man said.

Dean stepped around the cart.

"Dean--" Cas said again, snatching at his arm. Dean shrugged him off.

"I said: pick it up."

Raphael stared at Dean for a moment curiously and then turned his head carefully towards Cas'.

"Castiel, would you like me to pick up your fallen shards of dignity?"

Dean stared, "Holy shit, dude... what the hell was that? Ancient Roman smack talk?"

"Dean, let's just go--" Cas began.

"No, no, Cas just hold on a sec," Dean said sternly.

He turned to the man blocking the cart, "Look, you knocked this stuff down, and I don't really give a damn about this stoic bullshit attitude. You knocked stuff down, like a dick, so you can pick it up. Now."

Raphael smiled. It was a slow careful thing. Dean imagined that if a cat turned into a person it might smile a bit like that.

"I will pick up the muffins?"

"And the cups."

"And the cream?"

"And whatever the hell else is on the floor- is that a little too hard to grasp?"

"No," Raphael said smoothly, "It is however, impossible."

"Is that right?"

"It is."

Dean stepped closer, "Maybe if it's too damn hard for you to get down on your knees like an actual human being and could give you a hand."

"Please," Raphael's eyes tightened, "I think I'd like to see you attempt it."

Cas' hand landed firmly on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, he's just trying to bait you into something foolish--"

"I don't think it's possible for me to tempt this one into further stupidity," Raphael said smoothly.

"Alright--" Dean snapped but Cas pulled him back and he followed.

"You on the other hand Castiel…" Raphael continued, "It seems that each day your idiocy slips into more murky depths."

"If you'll excuse us," Cas said voice even deeper than usual and Dean could almost feel it rumbling through the hand tight on his shoulder. He didn't even think he separated his teeth as he spoke.

Raphael looked down at the ground where the muffins rolled haphazard around his feet. Slowly, he pushed his shiny black shoe down onto one and ground it into pieces against the floor.

Dean growled and moved for him but Cas was freakishly stronger than he looked and he held onto his shoulder so tight Dean almost winced.

"I'd make sure this mess is all tidied," Raphael said, staring darkly at Castiel, "Oh, that's right, you're not the cleaning staff… yet."

And with that he was gone.

"Christ!" Dean swore as Cas finally let him go and he stumbled a few feet, "What the fuck is his problem?"

"I have never truly known," Cas said staring down at the ruined muffins, "There is nothing innatly insulting about the association with cleaning staff."

Dean turned in a little circle, looking across the hall where Raphael had disappeared, down at the mess under them, at the scattered cart, at Cas, standing there with his face so still and his hands tight knots at his sides as he stared down at the single destroyed muffin--

"Come on," Dean said.

Cas seemed startled out of something by the sound of his voice, "What?"

"We're going for a walk."

"But, the cart--"

"Yeah, we'll tidy up, but fast, and then we are going for a walk, because if we don't get out of this freaking building in less than ten minutes I am going to find that asshole and clean this up with his fucking suit."

Cas smiled and nodded before kneeling down and pulling the scattered cups off the floor.

\---

It was already getting dark, the bare branches of the trees sweeping over head silhouetting against the sky as it faded from orange into blue. And it was cold - it had been for the past week. It had even snowed a bit. Not _really_ snowed, hardly two inches, but it hand't been warm enough to melt just yet, so it still sat over the benches that lined the path through the park, just deep enough to cover the grass in uninterrupted white. 

Dean glanced over at Cas. He was really wondering how he could possibly not be freezing in just that trench coat but the skinny guy didn't say anything… not that he would. He did look at bit cold though, even if he wasn't noticing it himself. The sharp tip of his nose was a red that had snuck up into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. The air in front of his face misted with each calm breath against the chill and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders pushed up a bit as if holding his popped collar closer to his neck to ward off the chill. 

"Do you want my hat or something?"

Cas turned and stared at him, eyes bright and confused, "What?"

"You must be freakin' freezing, don't you have a normal coat?"

"It's not that cold."

"Fine," Dean said shaking his head, "You just looked cold, that's all."

Cas said nothing. They continued down the path, and Dean definitely did not walk a little closer to him despite the fact that he was apparently fine. It's not like it would make a difference, not unless he tossed as arm around his shoulder or if they stopped and Cas pushed his arms under his coat and leaned his face against his neck, cold sharp nose under his jaw--

"I'm sorry," Cas said.

Dean shook himself a bit, "Hm?"

"I'm sorry," Cas said, looking down as he stepped quietly over the path, "About what happened. About Raphael."

Dean laughed, "What are you kidding? The guy's a completely douche - what the hell do you have to be sorry for?"

Cas' brow tightened, "He would not have been insulting to you if I was not present."

Dean stopped, turning to him, "Look, Cas,"

He did, staring right back at him.

"I don't care. The only thing I care about is you not letting me smack that arrogant fucking smile off his face, but that's probably not the best idea, so really, nothing. Okay? Don't worry about it. He's the asshole- not you… you're like, the exact opposite of an asshole."

Cas looked confused, "So I'm--"

"Don't-- jesus. Just… you're fine, okay? You're great. I'm not pissed at you. I don't think I could be if I tried."

And that sort of came out without permission but it was too late now and the way Cas was looking at him made him forget for a minute that he should care.

"Oh," Cas said suddenly, looking over Dean's shoulder.

"What?" Dean asked turning to look.

"They have the ice rink set up already… I didn't think it had been cold enough."

"What are you kidding?" Dean laughed, "It's been freaking freezing." 

He turned back to Cas who was staring at the thing with this kind of longing nostalgic look on his face.

"What?" Dean smiled, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, "You want to go?"

"Oh," Cas said, suddenly looked away shyly, "I shouldn't… I haven't- I mean to say it's been a long time since I tried it."

"But you want to," Dean said.

Cas looked up at him, "I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience… I can always come back."

"Fuck that," Dean grinned, "Come on- you had a bit of a shit day. You should do whatever the hell you feel like doing."

Cas looked at him with sudden intensity, "You'll come?"

Dean's didn't know why but his mouth went a bit dry. He swallowed it away and smiled through, "Yeah, of course."

Cas smiled in that way he always did, like his whole face was lightning up from the eyes out, and Dean felt his chest tighten a bit, and fuck.

Cas hurried across the field, so fast that Dean actually had to keep up. 

The rink was a bit small, but large enough he guessed. There were some plywood boards nailed up around it and little christmas lights were hung all along the edge. There weren't many people there- maybe four, their laughter echoing gently against the scrapping sound of the skates.

They got to the little shack with the bored looking high school girl leaning over her iPod behind the counter.

"Two pairs please." Cas said happily.

The girl looked at both of them and raised an eyebrow, "Figure?"

"Yes, please."

"Whoa- whoa," Dean insisted, "What are the options here?"

The girl was smiling at them in a really fucking obnoxious way, "Figure or hockey."

"Yeah, I think I'll take the hockey."

The girl smirked, "Are you sure."

Dean stared at her as hard as he could, "Yes."

"Size?" 

"Eleven" Dean said.

"Thirteen." Cas said.

Dean did a double take for a moment and then felt the girl staring and decided to look down which was, crap, really close to looking at feet so he looked over at the rink instead.

She set the skates down on the table, "That's twenty dollars- you can keep your shoes back here until you're done. There's benches over to the side."

"Thank you," Cas said paying her instantly.

Dean scooped up his definitely manly skates and followed him to the bench where he was already pulling his shoes off.

Dean sat down and stared at the skates for a minute. Cas looked up at him.

"Have you… done this before?"

Dean squinted, "Nope."

Cas looked way more worried than was necessary.

"It's fine," Dean laughed, "Jesus, how hard can it be?"

"Dean, are you sure--?"

"Yes! Come on, let's just go, alright?" He said, pulling his boots off quickly and tugging on the skates.

Cas watched him carefully for a minute and then slipped on his own, knotting them up carefully.

"Alright!" Dean said and stood up. And sat back down. Sat - not fell. Sat.

"Dean--"

"It's fine," Dean muttered, "Christ, just a bit of an adjustment that's all." 

Cas stood up neatly, "If you say so."

Dean managed it better this time, "Okay."

Cas made his way over towards the rink and thank god for the snow squishing under the blades because it at least made it possible to walk, which was okay, pretty awkward, but that was a given wasn't it? They weren't supposed to work on land - they weren't land skates.

Dean chuckled to himself at that thought and caught the edge of the rink under his hand.

Cas turned to him, "Ready?"

"Whenever you are," Dean said a little sharply.

"Alright," Cas smiled. He stepped out onto the ice and, well, floated. 

He slipped easily over the surface, spinning just a bit in small humble circles as he smiled. Dean couldn't help staring for a minute. It wasn't even like he had skates on, it was as if he was just hovering a few inches over the ice neatly and smoothly and all the little graceful things about the way he moved normally sort of exaggerated and filled out and in and he just… floated.

Dean swallowed. He stepped out with one foot. It slipped. He caught the edge of the rink and put the other foot down and took a deep breath. It wasn't that bad. He didn't feel like he was going to crash and die any second.

Carefully he took his hand off the wall and pushed himself out a bit.

He almost laughed out loud as he slid neatly out into the rink. He could do it! It wasn't that bad. He lifted up one foot and _jesuschristholyfuck!_

"Cas!" He yelled without realizing it and he felt someone catch his elbow right before he totally lost his balance.

"Here," Cas said neatly, holding him up way easier than he should have been able to.

Dean tried to move again and his heart almost stopped as his foot slipped, snatching tight to Cas' arm that was already holding him up.

"Okay- I might have underestimated a few things--"

Cas chuckled next to him and the sound rumbled through Dean's body.

Dean stared at him accusingly, "It's not fucking funny, Cas!"

"Apologies," Cas said, still smiling.

Dean wanted to ease the death grip he had on his arm but he couldn't quite seem to make himself.

"Here," Cas said gently, "Just follow me."

He started moving and Dean made a little sound and instantly hated himself for it but he swallowed and tried to stand up straight. 

After a minute he tried moving the skates like Cas was sliding his, sort of like walking without taking your feet of the ground and he didn't stumble and slice his own neck open with some spastic fall so he let himself smile a bit and take some of his weight off Cas.

"There," Cas said pleasantly. 

Dean laughed a bit, trying not to think about how incredibly gay they looked, but hell he'd rather look gay than kill himself so…

"You're pretty good at this huh?" He said watching his feet, "I guess the figure skating kind of balances out the whole brutal boxer image."

"Skating helped with my boxing during school," Cas said simply, "You need similar balance and the speed can be very refreshing."

"Well," Dean said, "Sorry for slowing you down I guess…"

"No," Cas said and Dean couldn't help feeling his hand tighten a bit on his arm. He also couldn't help leaning into it slightly. At least maybe his arm was keeping Cas' hands warm. Apparently gloves were also on the list on proper winter clothing he didn't believe was necessary.

They kept going steadily around the rink as Dean's feet seemed to be figuring out what they were doing for the most part. It was quiet there, just the sound of the skates and the still voices of the two or three other people around them. 

"So what happened?" He heard himself ask suddenly.

Cas looked back at him curiously.

"With that guy," Dean continued, "Why does he hate you so much?"

Cas sighed and for a minute Dean was terrified that he, _he_ of all people had tried to get someone to talk about something personal and seriously misjudged, but Cas slowed his pace a little and finally spoke.

"The simple answer is that I found something he did immoral."

Dean looked back at him.

Cas stared out at the park, moving with thoughtless ease, "I managed the firm's accounts before I was dismissed. I have always enjoyed working with numbers. I find it satisfying… simple and challenging at once. I noticed some inconsistencies in the accounts and investigated them."

"He was stealing?" 

"No," Castiel said, "I suspected initially… it took me three weeks to decided to approach Michael and Nick with the information."

Dean watched him as he spoke, trying his best to hold his own as Cas set the pace.

"Nick insisted on seeing the information, the proof, but Michael took me aside afterwards and informed me that Raphael had pushed that money aside as an undisclosed contribution to certain political campaigns and lobbying efforts, some of which are rather… extreme."

"And what? They didn't tell anyone they were doing this?" 

"No. It was a private arrangement and I could not help but feel that given the nature of the parties involved some might take issue with the financial support the firm was providing."

"So what did you do?"

"I informed Nick of the circumstances. He was furious. He presented the matter to the board- asking for measures to be taken. But Gabriel has always been… erratic in his appearances professionally and he could not be reached. Michael and Raphael carried the vote. I was fired."

"Sorry, but how the hell can that be legal?"

"It should not have been. Nick insisted that in two weeks when he was named managing partner he would reinstate me and take care of the issue… but--"

"He went nuts," Dean said.

"Don't say that," Cas said, "You don't understand what… it was not an easy situation to bear. He did not bear it well, but his reactions were not utterly unreasonable."

"What? Just because some board of directors said someone else got the job he wanted--"

"Our father said Michael should have the firm."

"Oh," Dean said, "Well, I guess that's--"

"He testified to the board that Nick has always been clinically emotional unstable, morally representable, and altogether a less valuable individual than Michael." 

Dean stared.

"Your dad said that?"

"In Nick's presence."

Dean stared down at the ice, "Shit…"

"He told us all the law was the only profession from when we were very young… Nick had worked towards it most of his life."

"Fuck…" Dean said, "Cas, I don't mean to be out of line here, but your dad seems like a complete dick."

"That would be an apt description." Cas said blankly.

He pushed forward a little quicker, "I didn't even know I had any brothers until I was seven… I saw my father three times between the ages of five and fifteen. None of us have seen him or heard from him since his testimony to the board that assigned Michael as managing partner."

Suddenly, Dean's foot turned wrong and he almost slipped. He caught the wall with one hand as Cas tightened his grip on his arm. 

"I'm okay--" Dean insisted, pulling his arm away to lean back on the wall.

"I'm sorry," Cas said suddenly shaking his head, "I should not have burdened you, I don't know why I said all of that..."

"No," Dean said, "It's not that, it's just… well, to be totally honest, a lot of this sounds just a little close to home."

Cas stared at him for a moment and then looked away.

"You have seemed distracted…" He said suddenly.

Dean looked at him, "Yeah?"

"Yes."

Dean sighed and leaned further back into the wall, "Yeah, well maybe I am,"

"It involves your brother." Cas said simply.

Dean looked at him sharply.

Cas sighed, "You simply seem to become preoccupied when he is present. I've recognized it. It's, 'close to home'."

Dean groaned, "It's just… I don't know-"

"You should tell him what's troubling you."

Dean laughed, "It's that simple is it?"

Cas stared back at him, "It is evidently far from simple… but it seems to weigh on you, and things that weigh do not get lighter until you say what you know ultimately needs to be said."

Dean looked back at him but he wasn't looking back, he was staring up at the vast expanse of indigo overhead that was turning a little orange in the corners where the light of the city began to catch against it.

Dean let himself smile.

"So… want to teach me how to do one of those neat little twirly things."

"I do not think that would be wise."

\---

Sam didn't get back to the apartment until well past midnight.

It had taken Nick two hours to convince Dick that they were not completely screwed and another five to pull all the files they had and begin to try and sort it out.

Nick had sent him home after his head knocked onto the desk for the third time and as much as he wanted to do his part he really wouldn't be any use half conscious.

It took him a minute to remember how keys worked, but finally he got the lock open and pushed into the apartment.

The lights were on. That wasn't right.

"Dean…?" He asked carefully.

There was a jostling sound, and a little confused murmur as Dean stumbled out into the hall, "Sammy-"

"Were you… waiting up for me?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, still obviously waking up from wherever he had passed out.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"No- well, yes, I… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Sam groaned a bit, "Look, Dean, that's great and I would normally be completely up for it but it's been a total shit day and I just--"

"It's about Dad." Dean said roughly, not meeting his face, "It's about the fight."

"Oh," Sam said.

Dean squirmed a bit, "Yeah."

Sam was trying his best to keep his eyes open, "Dean, look, I'm glad you want to talk about it but--"

"Dad has another son."

It spilled out in one flat sentence.

Sam stared.

"What?"

Dean looked away, "Dad has another kid- with another woman… He's sixteen years old."

He glanced back at Sam.

"His name's Adam."

Sam's brain did not want to work. He heard half of the words at most and even those didn't make sense.

"How do you--?"

"He showed up. At the shop. Dad admitted to it."

Sam couldn't seem to see much of the room anymore. The floor under his eyes was one solid shifting shape.

"But Mom--"

"Knew." Dean said, the anger glowing in his voice, "It happened around when they got the divorce."

Sam tightened his brow, maybe it would put things into place, maybe a single part of this would land where it was supposed to.

He looked back up at Dean.

"That's why you're here. You've known about this… for four weeks--"

"I didn't know how to tell you."

"It's pretty easy Dean," Sam snapped, "What did that take, two seconds?"

"Sam," Dean insisted, face darkening.

But Sam was already turning for his bedroom and snatching the door. 

He shut it firmly. He waited for half a minute for Dean to yell something back at him, "I'm sorry" or "fuck you" or even just "hold on" but no. 

Nothing.

He didn't bother with the lights. He didn't bother with his suit, or even his shoes. He hit the bed in one motion and shut his eyes as tight as he could. If he shut them tight enough he'd remember how tired he was. If he shut them tight enough he'd just wake up in the morning and everything would be the same and nothing would have happened. 

But he couldn't and it didn't and there was nothing but the sound of the traffic and the orange of the streetlight spilling across the floor, cutting the dark of the room into pieces.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was still half out of breath by the time the elevator hit the twenty third floor. He knew he looked like hell - he could feel where his shirt was sticking to his sweat, and he probably ripped the bottom of his pants when he'd dodged that taxi but he hadn't taken the time to check, not to mention the state of his shoes with the salt from the road...

It was almost nine in the morning. He hadn't been in this late since he started, but right now he hardly cared and that didn't make it feel any better. This was the third day in a row he'd refused to take the Impala with Dean - not that Dean had even offered. He had just waited around, not looking at him in a very deliberate way, while Sam continued to say nothing to him, gathered his shit and walked his bike out the door.

He didn't know what he'd expected - it had been all he could do not to tell him to get the fuck out and find his own place to stay. It might have been easier if Dean wasn't - well, Dean. But even so, he could at least say "sorry" or "let's talk about it" or anything. But nope. Nothing. And Sam sure as hell wasn't going to be the one that started that conversation, not when he was the one who had all the right in the world to be pissed as hell at him. No. If he wanted to talk he would have to be the one to start it.

Sam hurried out of the elevator and down the hall, shaking his arms in an attempt to unstick them from his shirt. 

Balathzar turned a corner and Sam half slammed into his shoulder as he pushed past.

"Oi!" he yelled after him.

"Sorry," Sam muttered without looking back.

He pushed down past the partner's offices, turning to press his back against his office door, relishing the coolness of the glass against his skin for a moment before letting himself fall inside.

Nick hit him hard in the chest with a file at the same moment, pushing him right back out the way he came; "You're late."

"You have your own office, you know," Sam said sharply, catching the file and following him down the hall.

"Late and sassy - not a nice combination on you Sammy,"

"Don't call me that."

Nick slowed and stopped in front of him, turning to meet his eyes.

Sam was already regretting taking the trouble but he was in a shit mood and that really could do wonders for one's disregard for personal safety.

"What was that?" Nick said calmly.

"Don't call me Sammy. I don't like it." Sam said.

"But you use my nickname," Nick insisted. Sam could have sworn he was about to add 'no pun intended' but kept a lid on it.

"I use your legal name."

"My legal middle name."

Sam narrowed his eyes, "You kept 'Lucifer' as your first name?"

Nick shrugged, "Without the connotation I do rather like it."

"There is no connotation," Sam said idly, "Luficer was just a metaphor in the Bible ultimately (you know, 'brightest star in the sky'), it's been taken as a name because of context, but no one actually knew 'Lucifer's' true name since it was stricken from the records of heaven after his betrayal--"

Nick was staring at him.

"I, uh…" Sam began, realizing he'd been rambling, "Our uncle kinda makes a hobby out of mythology…"

"It's alright," Nick said, turning back down the hall, "You can call me your starlight if you want to. Or your extended metaphor, what ever hits your buttons, Sammy,"

Sam got a sharp pang of that nasty urge that always came with shit moods to turn around and walk away rather than deal with difficult people, but he took a deep breath and continued to follow him, "Where are we going?"

"Court,"

_Shit._

"I - um," Sam managed, stumbling after Nick, "That's today- right now?"

Nick gave him a look, "Did you forget?"

"No!" Sam insisted, "No, no, of course not, I just--"

"I presume you are late because you have been enjoying tireless research in preparation for the questioning?"

"Umm…"

Nick rolled a forefinger against his temple.

"I'm not going to give myself time to consider the vagrant disregard of that response. We're going. Now."

\---

Even with the way he drove they still had to hurry through the court house, and even then by the time they arrived, Dick was already waiting.

"Tardiness does not inspire confidence," He said as he stood.

"Apologies," Nick said, "Just some last minute preparation."

Sam glanced over towards the opposing council's table. Lilith sat calmly beside her client, legs crossed, hair down. She gave him a quick once over and smiled as she uncrossed her legs. Sam looked away and cleared his throat.

"You better be ready for this, Nick. You fuck this up and, well, that would be unfortunate for everyone."

"What's unfortunate is that we were not informed of a whistle blower until it was presented by opposing council." Nick said quietly, stepping closer to Dick, "If you had taken my earlier advice and settled this quietly, there would be no need for concern."

Dick gritted his teeth, "These people are scum - they have nothing. I built this company, as an American, with American values, and American can-do and I'm not paying a cent to anyone who has a problem with that."

 _Jesus christ_ , Sam did not have the energy for this right now - his asshole tolerance was maxed out well enough as it was and sitting here, listening to him-- he really shouldn't have bothered to come at all.

"Settling is still an option--"

"Did you not hear the words that just came out of my mouth?"

Nick's eyes were sparkling in that dangerous way but Dick did not seem to notice.

"My only concern, Mr. Roman," Nick said, "Is for the financial stability and future of your company, and it is my duty to inform you that a quick settlement, and the avoidance of public attention that a law suit entails, could be in your best interest."

Dick stared at him for a moment and then a slimy smile spread over his face, "What is it, Nicky? She got you all unsettled?" Dick leaned forward, "Don't think you've got it in you?" 

"ALL RISE!" The bailiff called. 

Sam saw Nick's hands tighten briefly on the table before he slid neatly behind it and faced the judge. 

"Be seated," The judge grumbled as he took his seat, "Are we ready?"

"Yes, your honor," Lilith said, "The prosecution would like to call Doctor Tobias Zeke to the stand."

The judge waved idly, "Proceed,"

"I'm sorry," Nick said, suddenly standing once more, "But might we start with Mr. Jones, as he is the individual bringing these complaints? It seems rather premature to question Dr. Zeke without first fully understanding Mr. Jones' condition and allowing for an opportunity to question the individual the prosecution claims has been so severely effected."

Sam glanced over at Lilith who opened her mouth slightly and left it there.

"He does make a point Miss. Lucius," The judge said, "I would like to hear from Mr. Jones, he is the effected party here."

Mr. Jones stared blankly from Lilith to the judge, hardly seeming to understand half of what was being said.

"Your honor we were not adequately informed--"

"If Mr. Jones is so severely damaged by my client's products than surely he would like the chance to explain those damages in full." Nick said.

"Of course but--"

"You can't honestly have presumed that he would not be required to press his accusations personally?"

Lilith looked at Nick for a moment and then smiled cleanly, "He'd be more than happy to,"

"Fantastic."

The judge leaned back and sighed, "Alright then, Mr. Jones."

The massive individual with the pasty skin seated behind the defense table looked towards Lilith with glazed eyes.

"It's alright," She smiled.

Steadily, he stood, chair creaking and protesting under him all the while.

"Jesus," Dick muttered as Mr. Jones began to shuffle towards the front, "The man's a fucking whale. They can't seriously blame us for that."

The urge to call their client "a smug douche who should really shut the hell up right fucking now" was increasing by the second.

Mr. Jones' fat palm almost encompassed the bible as he took the oath in a mumbling quiet voice that Sam hardly even heard, before seating himself uncomfortably at the stand.

"You may proceed Miss. Lucius," The judge said.

"Thank you," She said.

She stepped closer, smiling in a way Sam felt was supposed to be friendly and comforting but she really didn't look like she was used to that sort of thing and just ended up looking like someone who's drugged your coffee and is waiting for you to pass out at the table.

"Mr. Jones, would you describe your health as exceedingly poor?"

"Objection," Sam and Nick said at once.

The judge looked over towards them.

"Leading," Sam finished.

"Sustained," The judge said.

Lilith continued seamlessly, "How would you describe your health, Mr. Jones?"

The man glanced to the judge and then to Nick and then to her, "Not… good?"

"I understand you've had some tests done recently, could you describe the findings of those for the court?"

"I…" He trailed dumbly. 

"You went to the doctor, isn't that right?"

"Objection," Sam said again.

"Overruled," The judge sighed, "I think we have to allow her some room to work with Mr. Winchester,"

"What did the doctor say Mr. Jones?" Lilith continued.

"Well…" Mr. Jones began, "He's says I'm too fat."

Lilith smiled a little harder, "What else?"

"Says I have diabetes… that my heart's no good, and that I'll probably be dead, well, pretty soon."

"And there's nothing you can do about that?"

"He said I should stop eating all that stuff,"

"All what stuff, Mr. Jones?"

"His stuff," The man said, pointing one fat finger towards Dick Roman.

"Let the record reflect that Mr. Jones has indicated Mr. Roman," Lilith said, "Sucro Corp's products? Is that what you mean Mr. Jones?"

He nodded.

"Yes?" She pressed patiently.

"Yes." He said.

"If you cease consuming the defendant's product will your healthy return to normal?"

"No," Mr. Jones said, "The doctor said, told me, too late - there's too much, my heart's bad now. And the diabetes--"

"So, it would be fair to say that your health has been irreparably damaged by your diet?"

"Seems so," He said with a sigh.

"Now, Mr. Jones, you've told us about your physical health, but I understand you were recently also tested for mental health,"

"Objection," Nick broke in, "Relevance?"

"Your honor, I'm simply trying to form a full picture of Mr. Jones health, mental and physical."

"I'll allow it," The judge said.

"Answer the question please Mr. Jones." Lilith continued. 

"They said… it's not good." He said.

"Not good?"

"No. Not good."

"In what way, 'not good'?"

"Not… just, not good."

Lilith turned and snatched a paper off the table behind her, "I have here a full mental evaluation, which puts Mr. Jones IQ at 83 and his reflexes at an usually slow rate."

She handed it to the judge.

"I'm sorry your honor," Nick said standing, "I really must insist again on questioning the relevance--"

"Mr. Jones," Lilith said, "Has your mental state been worse now than previously?"

"Worse. Worse now," He said quickly.

"You did not feel as mentally or physically unfit in the past?"

"No, I - well, I just started eating more and it all got worse."

"Your honor--" Nick began.

"You'll have your turn Mr. Lucius," The judge said as he ran his eyes over the paper in front of him. He looked back to Lilith, "Do you have any more questions, Miss. Lucius?"

"Just one, your honor- Mr. Jones, if these products were obviously causing you harm, why didn't you merely stop consuming them?"

He stared back at her, his brow furrowing a little, "I… didn't want to."

"Didn't want to?" She pressed.

"Didn't… couldn't. I couldn't stop."

"But, it's simple, isn't it? You just stop."

"No," The man said, his eyes widening in confusion, "No… you don't."

Lilith let that hang for a moment and finally stepped back.

"No further questions."

Nick was standing in an instant, but even when he moved quickly he always had a bit of a slow slink to him that was rather disquieting.

"Mr. Jones," He said, stepping around the table.

"Yeah?" The man said nervously, eyeing Nick as he got closer.

"You seem to enjoy snacks, treats, food in general, would that be alright to say?"

"I suppose--"

"And you eat a lot. Don't you?"

The man looked a bit angry but answered all the same, "Yeah, I do."

"Have for a while?"

"For a while, sure."

"Snacks? Treats?"

"Yes."

"Lots of them?"

"Yes!"

"All Sucro Corp products?"

"I… well--"

"I'm sure you checked the labels on all these products, saw just what they contained, were sure to be absolutely positive that all the individual aspects that caused you harm linked back to my client's company. I mean, why would you bring a suit such as this if you weren't totally assured of the source?"

"Objection," Lilith broke in.

"Sustained," The judge said.

Nick shrugged, "Were all the products you consumed, which led to your poor health, from Sucro Corp, Mr. Jones?"

"I… I don't know, they put that stuff in everything!"

"Everything might be a bit of an overstatement, but I'll rephrase: can you be certain that each and every snack, treat, or food stuff that led to your condition, was sourced from my client?"

Mr. Jones stared blankly.

"Him," Nick said, pointing in Dick's direction.

Mr. Jones looked down at his hands, "No…"

"Fine. And Mr. Jones, did this Doctor tell you that your health concerns were directly tied to Sucro Corp products?"

"He said I can't be eating that stuff anymore--"

"I'm sorry did he say 'you can't be eating Sucro Corp products anymore'?" 

"Yes! Them and anything else!"

Nick paused.

"And anything else?" He repeated.

Mr. Jones looked to Lilith desperately.

"Just one more thing Mr. Jones," Nick said stepping between him and Lilith's seething gaze, "You have a mental evaluation here- you claim that you would not have always been evaluated in the same manner, is that right?"

"Yeah. That's right," He said, trying to make up ground with a firm tone.

"And do you have a previous evaluation that proves that claim?"

"I-- well..."

"Do you have a previous mental evaluation that proves that your mental state has indeed been altered since your change in diet?"

Mr. Jones wilted, "No."

Nick looked back to the judge, "No further questions."

"The witness is excused," The judge finished.

Mr. Jones eased himself out of the booth and made his shuffling way back to his seat as Nick sat back down.

"Now, your honor, may we call Dr. Zeke?" Lilith said impatiently.

"Proceed," The judge said with a wave.

Off in the back a rather nervous looking man stood, mostly bald, with a tired appearance. His glasses didn't seem to fit him quite right and he kept adjusting them, along with his suit, which seemed old and worn little.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" The bailiff echoed as the man's shaky hand rested on the bible.

"I do," He said quietly.

"Be seated."

The man eased himself into the small wooden chair, somehow looking even more uncomfortable than Mr. Jones had been there. 

"Could you state your name and previous occupation for the record?" Lilith said as she approached. 

"Yes," The man said - he had a gentle careful voice that seemed to give words more consideration than the average person, "Doctor Tobias Zeke, I was employeed until October of last year, by Famis Pharmaceutical."

"A company owned by Mr. Dick Roman?"

"That's correct, yes."

"And why did you leave Famis Pharmaceutical, Doctor Zeke?"

"My employment was terminated."

"And why was that?"

"They told me that it was because my work had become unsatisfactory. But..."

"But you believe it was for another reason?"

"Yes."

"And what was that reason?"

"I… I had started asking to what ends my research would be used. I believe I was terminated because I was no longer willing to participate without question in research that I found potentially damaging to consumers."

"Objection," Sam said, "Speculation."

"Overruled," The judge said, "Doctor Zeke has clearly stated the matter is his opinion, Mr. Winchester,"

"Excuse me your honor, but should we not be dealing in fact?" Nick pressed.

"Then let's deal in fact," Lilith said, "Doctor Zeke, what was the nature of your research for Famis Pharmacutical?"

"I was involved initially in the development of pacifying agents for use in anxiety medications, but I was then directed to research the properties of sugar structures and their digestive and physiological properties."

"Was there any particular sugar structure that you were researching?"

"Yes, HFCS - or high fructose corn syrup."

"Could you help the court understand the nature of this product?"

"HFCS is quite different from standard corn syrup. It is created when that initial product is subjected to enzymatic processing, this makes the product sweeter by transforming glucose into fructose."

"And what were you researching in regard to these sugars?"

"I was looking into the effects they have over the body, particularly the fact that they do not digest like normal sugars, and their ability to slow or stop the leptin hormone from reaching the brain."

"What does the leptin hormone do, Doctor?"

"The leptin hormone is responsible for sending a signal to the brain that indicates when you are full and essentially tells you to stop eating. High fructose corn syrup prevents these signals."

"So, the products that Mr. Roman's company puts forth, make use of a compound which you were researching in a pharmaceutical corporation for it's ability to make people unable to stop consuming? Is that right?"

"It is." Doctor Zeke said.

"I suppose you could even say that they were paying you to create a drug of another kind?"

"Objection," Nick and Sam said at once.

"No further questions," Lilith said smoothly, "Thank you Doctor," And with that she turned back to her seat.

She'd hardly sat before Nick was striding around the table towards the sheepish man. The doctor was nervous, very nervous, that much was readily apparent, but as Nick approached he seemed to steel himself and looked up with as much courage as he could, and seeing that suddenly made a sickness sink into Sam's stomach.

"Doctor Zeke, you said that you were fired from my client's company, is that correct?"

"It is."

"And this was, last year you said?"

"Yes, last October."

"Mmm," Nick said, stepping easily across the floor, "So, if I read this report correctly, that means you were conducting these studies for, lets see… three years? Before your dismissal?"

"Yes, but--"

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask: if these actions of the corporation were so abhorrent to you, why you did not leave of your own free will? Especially after three years--"

"It's not that simple," The man said, his voice growing a little stronger.

"Isn't it? You're a pharmaceutical development researcher with a fine doctorate and from my research a rather shining reputation, you're telling me it would have been hard for you to find work elsewhere?"

"My wife is studying for her Masters- she couldn't transfer, not after all the work she had done already. We have two girls--"

"Ah, I see, there's always a million reasons, and each one apparently more concerning than this supposed 'moral outrage'. Or was it just simple not that outrageous?"

"The product is clinically dangerous. There is no denying that."

"Yes, that is your testimony, but unfortunately Doctor you are not the only individual with an opinion in this matter. There is plenty of research refuting the claims you have made. And what it comes down to is that Mr. Jones' health has not be linked directly and uniquely by a medical professional to my client's products."

"They are a pharmaceutical company. They test and create drugs. It is what they do. It is what I do. That connection cannot be disregarded."

"Fine, fine," Nick said with a wave, "Then let's put it another way."

He turned to face the man, looking him directly in the eye.

"You strike me as an honest individual, Doctor Zeke,"

The doctor said nothing, merely held his gaze as well as he could manage. Sam felt the sickness sink deeper.

"As a doctor, and under oath I might remind you, could you say that Mr. Jones health conditions are directly linked to my client's products."

"I…" He began clumsily, "I'm not that kind of doctor."

"I'm sorry to disagree with you, but a quick google search clearly shows that you completed a full residency at Boston General Hospital. With accolades I might add."

"That was a long time ago - and even then... I haven't examined him, I could not give an informed opinion."

"Alright then, I'll put it yet another way - as a doctor, would you recommend to a patient with similar symptoms to Mr. Jones that they stop consuming food that is dangerous to their health?"

"Of course,"

"And would you limit that recommendation to a cessation in the consumption of only Sucro Corp products?"

The man held Nick's gaze for a moment and then looked away, "No, of course not- there are many harmful manufactures,"

"I see, so it is in fact the specific elements and not this individual corporation that is at fault."

"No. Those who produce the product should be held responsible--"

"And what of the FDA? The governmentally assigned oversight committee that has approved my client's product and thousands of other's like it? Are we to ignore their recommendations in favor of your insistence?"

"Objection! Badgering--" Lilith called.

"Overruled." The judged said.

"Or is it," Nick continued, "Simply that they have approved my client's product, and all those like it because in the end it is an individual act of irresponsible, thoughtless, gluttonous consumption that leads to such a health crisis?"

Doctor Zeke said nothing. He stared down at his knitted fingers.

The sick feeling in Sam's stomach was getting almost painful.

"Or, perhaps you'd like us to restrict an individual's freedom to feed themselves whatever they wish?"

"Objection," Lilith insisted sharply.

"You're pushing it Mr. Lucius," the judge said.

"No," Doctor Zeke said suddenly, "I'd like to respond."

He looked up again and met Nick's eyes.

"I'm not here to say what should be done, or what can be done. I am here because I was a doctor employed by a pharmaceutical company, a doctor who specializes in mentally pacifying agents, and I was asked to investigate a food product in my capacity as a drugs developer. Those are the simple facts. I cannot claim what should be done with them. I can merely present them for what they are."

Nick held his gaze for a moment.

"No further questions, your honor."

"The witness is excused," The judge said, still leaning forward on his elbows and considering the small nervous man.

Nick walked back to the table and slipped into his seat.

Dick leaned over and whispered sharply, "You could have broken him Nick, why the hell did you let him have the last word?"

"If you take issue with the manner in which I perform my job Mr. Roman, I suggest you find yourself new council."

Dick leaned back with a sniff.

"I would like to take some time to consider my ruling," The judge said from the bench, "Unfortunately, this time of year is rather depressingly congested, and I do not wish to rush to decisions. Court will reconvene on the twenty-fourth. I will allow councils an opportunity for summarizing statements and then inform you of my descision"

He knocked the gavel cleanly and stood.

Sam was on his feet before he realized it, pushing papers into his briefcase and snapping it shut. Dick was turning to Nick with his voice lowered, no doubt pressing him further about why he hadn't shattered that poor man and Sam just couldn't do it. He couldn't hear it. He wouldn't. He slid his briefcase off the desk and hurried towards the door.

"Sam--" Nick called after him.

Sam didn't turn, "I'll wait for you by the car."

He almost heard him call something else out, but by then his palm was flat against the wood of the door and he was pushing his way out into the courthouse halls. He waited for the push of air to loosen the tightness in his gut but the halls were full of pushing bodies and calling voices and his head swam sharply. He ran a hand through his hair, squeezing just a little to try and push it away as he made his way to the elevators. 

They opened instantly and the sight of an empty space no matter now small almost made him sigh in gratitude.

He stepped in. The doors began to slide shut and four cleanly manicured nails slipped around the side, pushing just enough to open them again and let their owner slip in beside him.

"Hello," Lilith said with a smile.

Sam hit the nearest floor button as quickly as he could.

She reached out hardly a second later and pulled the emergency stop.

"You're really, really not supposed to do that--" Sam insisted, hurrying over to push it back.

She placed a flat hand on his chest and he stilled instantly.

"Oh, don't spoil the fun," She said, looking down at her hand, one finger sliding under his tie to rest between two buttons of his shirt.

Sam stepped back quickly, shoving her off, "Look, I don't know what this is, or what you want, I honestly don't care. I just want to get off this elevator, and out of this building- okay?"

"So sensitive," She clucked, "Don't worry Sammy, I just want to talk."

"It's Sam."

"Sam," She corrected neatly, "So sorry, I suppose Sammy must be a pet name."

"It's really not."

"Oh, I see," She said with a wide grin, "Still keeping up appearances? That's actually rather adorable. I can see why he likes you. But don't worry, all friends here, been there, done that. I know how he prefers showers in the evening, and swears in Italian when he comes--"

"Oh my god, stop talking! Just stop, right, now!" Sam said, already hating the blush pouring over his face.

"Oh, come on Sam, don't be so coy! Does he still do that thing where he can't stand not driving for the end and flips you over and runs his teeth--"

" _Stop right now_!" Sam yelled louder than he'd meant.

Lilith's eyes suddenly widened, "Oh my god… you really don't know do you?"

"No! Jesus, and I really, really did not need to know either, so can you please, please, just--" Sam snatched a hand out towards the stop again but she caught his wrist faster and harder than he'd expected.

"Christ…" She whispered, leaning closer, "You even smell like virgin, I can't believe I didn't notice it earlier--"

"Hey!" Sam snapped, pulling his wrist back forcefully, "I am _not_ a virgin, and jesus christ, I am not having this conversation,"

"I see now..." Lilith said, apparently to herself, staring into Sam's face as if examining some inanimate piece of evidence, "He's never had an associate before… he likes you, that much is clear. I can see the appeal mind, but it's more than that… he hasn't touched you. I bet he hasn't even really tried--"

"Start the elevator." Sam said sternly.

"And you know that… Sure he might tease you, because he's Nicky, and frankly," She added, running her eyes down Sam's body in a way that felt a good deal too much like her hands were on him, "How could he resist? But you know he hasn't really tried. You know because if he had you're not sure that you would stop him."

Sam shoved her cleanly to one side and pulled the stop back into place as she laughed.

"I can't believe it…" She said, "He really has changed. It's almost adorable, well, if it weren't so very sad."

"Shut up," Sam snapped. 

He knew he shouldn't have said it, but his stomach was roiling and his head was pounding, and he really couldn't keep track anymore. 

"Sam," She said calmly, almost kindly behind him, "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"No."

"I will anyways... don't. Just don't." She said simply.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Sam knew he should step out, forget it, let the horrible day move on. But he didn't.

"Don't what?" He asked her without turning.

"He's broken, Sam. And I don't mean that in the oscar nominated, heal these wounds together, learn each other anew sort of way… I mean seriously, dangerously, broken, with nasty edges sticking out in vicious unexpected places. And if you try to sand them down they will just break under you into smaller sharper ones that you'll never find."

She stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"So, just don't."

And with that she was gone. 

\---

Dean was in a bad mood. And that didn't mean he was just a little snippy and sharper with people than he should be, it meant Cas had already been forced to half drag him out of an office when some snooty associate said he wouldn't tip because they didn't offer enough gluten free options, it meant he'd caught himself swearing at coffee cups like they'd murdered his family, and pushing the cart down the hall like something out of Road Warrior.

"Dean, are you sure that you would not like to have a sick day?" Cas asked carefully, trying to keep up behind him.

"I'm not sick Cas, I'm pissed- there's a difference."

"The physical symptoms still seem to be disabling."

"I'm fine - jesus, if you'd just stop and leave me along for one goddamn minute." Dean growled, realizing that he wasn't exactly putting the big sell on the whole "fine" thing.

But it seemed to work just the same. Cas didn't say anything else, just fell into that silently brooding thing of his with his shuffling steps following close behind. Dean could almost feel his wide concerned eyes boring into the back of his head but he tried to ignore it and focus instead on his own hands gripping white tight on the handle of the cart. 

"Whoa there boys," a smarmy voice called, turning around a corner. 

Dean couldn't help groaning as Gabe's hand hit the cart and stopped them.

"Oh dear, did someone not get their beauty sleep?" He frowned mockingly as he pulled a chocolate chip muffin off the cart.

"Watch it, Wonka," Dean snapped.

"Hey, you're the one who could use a bit of sugar, sweetheart."

"Gabriel," Cas insisted, "Please,"

"Alright, fine, fine-- jesus, it's almost Christmas, lighten up already."

"I really could not give less of a crap about Christmas," Dean grumbled.

"Dean!" Gabe said sharply, looking nervously upward, "Careful - Baby Jesus will hear you!"

"Yeah, and I could give less than two shits about Baby Jesus--"

Cas sighed behind him and Gabe chuckled to himself.

"Oh come on, the season's not all that bad," Gabe said, "You really can't miss the party."

"Party?" Dean asked.

"Gabriel takes his responsibility for organizing the annual christmas party quite seriously," Cas said.

"I can't imagine your superiors enjoy that too much,"

"Most of them choose to miss it-" Gabe said, "They're not so bad about letting me have my fun… even if it is only once a year."

Down the hall behind them Dean faintly heard the sound of an elevator opening.

Gabe was half way through shoving the first bite of the muffin into his mouth, when his eyes swiveled in the direction of the elevators. 

"Oh fuck--" He mumbled, crumbles spilling out with each syllable.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark haired man with a smug smile and an obnoxiously fine suit stepping out of the elevator.

"Oh no," Cas groaned.

"What?" Dean asked.

Gabe was trying to swallow his muffin as quickly as possible and half choked, coughing wildly and holding onto the edge of the cart to try and recover.

"Ah, memories," said the dark haired man in a smooth British accent that growled just slightly on the ends, as he sidled up the the cart, "Breathe, then swallow, dear. Didn't I teach you anything?"

Gabe looked up and him and Dean almost grinned at the look of anxiety that was suddenly clinging to his eyes.

"Hello, Castiel, it's lovely to see you again. The apron suits you," The man oozed.

"Hello." Cas said shortly.

"This one's new," The man said, leaning back on his heels and looking at Dean, "What's your name, darling?"

"Starting to think it's none of your damn business," Dean said.

The man raised an eyebrow and smiled at him.

"Dean, this is Crowley, Crowley this is Dean Winchester," Cas said quickly, "And we really should be--"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gabe suddenly cut in.

"What? Not pleased to see me- has absence failed to make the heart grow fonder?"

"I don't think the heart was really involved in any of it, do you? Pretty sure that most of it it was illegal in twenty-nine states--"

"Is that all? Last time I check it was at least thirty-four…"

Dean leaned over towards Cas slightly, "What the hell is happening?"

"They were… acquainted during Gabriel's time at university." Cas answered uncomfortably. 

"Intimately so," Crowley smiled.

Gabe rolled his eyes and leaned further into the cart.

"Seriously?" Dean laughed, turning to Gabe, "Isn't he a little old for you, man?"

"Rude," Crowley tutted, "But an experienced TA half way through law school can certainly offer some helpful tips to a little first year… Remember how innocent you were then, it was just irresistible. Not sure you would have survived without me, honestly--"

"I don't think I was ever innocent, honey," Gabe snapped, "And I certainly would have survived fine- it was Harvard, not the fucking Sahara for christ's sake,"

"Oh, come on now- you would never have made it past the LSATS let alone the BAR, not to mention finding your way around an--"

"Why are you here?" Gabe cut in sharply.

"Looking for your big brother, and yours," He said to Dean, "If I've heard correctly."

"Well, they're out." Dean said.

"That's a pity," Crowley said, "I've brought some settlement offers I'm sure they'll be interested in hearing…"

"Well, they're in court," Gabe said, "So, you'll just have to come back later."

"Is that an invitation?" Crowley smiled.

"No." Gabe said firmly.

"We'll see," Crowley winked.

"Okay, it's time to go," Dean said impatiently, giving the cart a good hard shove past Gabe.

"Hey! I haven't paid for my muffin,"

"Oh, I'm quite partial to a good muffin," Crowley said, reaching towards them.

"What's happening here?" A stony voice suddenly sounded.

Dean turned, "Oh fucking christ--"

"Castiel, if you could ask your… subordinate, to restrict his obscenities within the building," Raphael said without looking at Dean. 

"He's not a subordinate," Castiel said firmly. He moved to shove the cart around him but Raphael laid a firm hand on the side and stopped it.

"That must be confusing." He said.

"Not everyone feels the need to see people in terms of superiority and inferiority, Raphael." Cas said sharply.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Look, just fuck off already," Dean said, "Unless standing in a hall is illegal."

"Maybe you should go," Gabe muttered to Crowley.

"What, just when things get interesting?" He whispered back.

"You're blocking the hallway," Raphael continued, "Causing what I'm sure must be a fire hazard… in fact I think an assessment of that risk is in order."

"Raphael, jesus, just give it a rest, will you?" Gabe sighed, "Can't we all just--"

"Get along?" Crowley finished.

"Shut up," Gabe snapped.

"Make me."

"Consorting with opposing council is not an activity this firm takes lightly," Raphael said.

"Did you hear that, dear?" Crowley said, nudging Gabe with his arm, "He thinks we're consorting… it has a rather Venetian ring to it, doesn't it?"

"We'll just be out of the way--" Cas said and gave the cart a shove. 

Raphael stopped it. Again.

"Your employee insulted me, Castiel."

"Oh, fucking christ," Dean groaned.

"Don't you think it would be appropriate if he apologized for his vagrant lack of respect?" Raphael said, looking at Dean for the first time and smiling just a touch.

Dean felt it happening- that white rage that slipped up from his gut, clambering up his throat and making everything seem a but fuzzy through the anger as his hands tightened enough to hurt and his teeth clamped down hard enough to creak.

"I'm waiting." Raphael said.

"No." Cas said before Dean could do anything.

"What was that?" Raphael asked.

"I said no."

"You won't have him apologize?"

"I won't have him do anything."

Raphael smiled wider, "I thought as much… you can't even manage to put yourself above one single, menial laborer, can you? You are just that ineffectual… just that weak."

Crowley whistled slightly through his teeth and Gabe stared at him accusingly.

Cas said nothing. 

"No response?" Raphael smiled, "Can't you even defend yourself?"

Nothing.

"No.. of course not. And do you know why? It's because you would rather push a cart around halls handling people's spare change than gain the stomach to serve this firm. It's because you are weak. You have always been weak, and you always will be weak. I might seem to dislike you personally Castiel, and that is why I wish you out of this building, but truthfully it's simply that seeing something so pathetic turns my stomach-- "

Dean swung.

He didn't think and he probably should have because he missed, and Raphael's closed fist caught him squarely in the stomach.

"Dean--" Cas yelled.

He hit the ground in a furious gasping pile.

Raphael looked down, smiled once, and kicked him squarely under the jaw.

"Hey!" Gabe yelled.

Dean fell back. He tasted iron. Everything seemed a bit hazy, but through it, he somehow noticed Cas' fist tighten as his side.

The next thing he knew Raphael's head was thrown back as a crack sounded through the hall and his ringing ears.

Hardly a second later Dean felt hands scooping up under his arms as he scrambled back to his feet, while Gabe pushed his way between a very still Cas and a furious Raphael.

It hardly took Dean a minute to realized that Crowley had pulled him up and he shoved him off, supporting himself against the wall.

"Easy there slugger," Crowley grinned.

Dean didn't really hear him, he was staring at Cas who looked so calm and still as he stared back at him. Well, calm except for his eyes, and the way his chest was practically heaving, and the blood on three of his knuckles.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asked- voice weirdly rougher than usual.

Dean's throat was too dry to speak suddenly, so he just nodded dumbly back.

Gabriel was pushing Raphael a few steps back, "That's enough, jesus, if you guys take this any further you'll make our interior decorator cry for getting blood on this bamboo."

"No need," Raphael said, calmly running a hand over his bleeding nose, "I do believe you managed to break my nose, Castiel. I'm sure fire codes need not concern me now- you, both of you, will be out of the building within four hours."

Cas glanced at Dean in a way that was painfully apologetic, "Dean, I'm sorry--"

"Jesus, Cas, shut up," Dean sighed.

"Oh, come on, Raph!" Gabe said, "You goaded the poor thing, _and_ hit him first!"

"He would have struck me… if he had managed to aim better than a drunken infant."

"Really?" Gabriel said, stepping back towards Cas slightly, "Because what I saw was that he stumbled, and _then_ you hit him right in the stomach, and quite literally kicked him while he was down to top it off."

"That's not what happened, and unfortunately for you, you can't prove otherwise."

"But I have a witness--" Gabe said.

"What?"

Gabe turned to Crowley.

"Oh please," He groaned.

Gabe looked at him harder.

"Oh, not the face," Crowley sighed.

Gabe stuck out his lower lip just a touch.

Crowley rolled his eyes, "You should really be sanctioned, you know." He turned to Raphael, "Yes, I saw it. The terrible lawyer taunted and belittled the poor struggling baristas and beat the pretty one mercilessly- it was all quite traumatic."

Raphael looked from him to Gabe and finally to Cas. 

"This won't be the end of it."

Cas stared back at him, hard and firm, and finally, with a sniff, Raphael turned and strode back down the hall, holding his bleeding nose as he went.

"I didn't realize you employed Bond villains here," Crowley said as Raphael disappeared from sight.

"Thanks for that," Gabe said.

"You owe me," Crowley insisted, and with that he turned and made his way back to the elevator.

Gabe turned on Cas, "See what I do for you?"

"Thank you." Cas said quietly.

Gabe stuck a finger out at him, "Free muffins for the rest of the week. Still warm, too, none of this last pick crap."

Cas nodded with a little smile.

"Jesus," Gabe sighed as he turned down the hall, "You're all going to murder me."

And then he was gone.

Dean realized he was still leaning against the wall and managed to peel himself off and stand up on his own.

"Look… Cas, uh--"

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas said, "If you'd like to leave I will understand completely. I have exposed you to insulting and ultimately damaging circumstances--"

"Shut up," Dean almost laughed, "I started it… well, he totally started it, but I followed up pretty well."

Cas smiled weakly.

"But you finished it," Dean said, "And I'd be lying if I didn't say that was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen."

Cas furrowed his brow, "He struck you. He should not have done that… I shouldn't have-- I just felt... I don't know…"

Dean stared at him. Cas stared back. They both looked away sharply.

Silence clustered in around them for a moment, pressing with more intensity than it rightly should have.

"Well," Dean cleared his throat, cutting the moment cleanly, as he moved back to the side of the cart. 

Cas stepped beside him, moving the thing forward steadily.

"Did you really break his nose?" Dean asked after a minute.

"Most certainly."

Dean chuckled as he wiped a bit of blood from his lip.

"Awesome."

\----

Sam was about to give up hope for having any feeling left in his fingers at all by the time Nick's beeped and the headlights flicked on and off as Nick strode across the lot towards him.

Sam turned away from the sight of him and pulled open the door.

Nick slid in hardly a moment later, "Apologies for the delay."

Sam said nothing, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and leaned against the window.

"Well, you're a bundle of fun today," Nick muttered.

He tossed and arm behind Sam's seat to look behind him as he backed out and Sam couldn't help feeling his neck heat up just a bit.

They sat in silence as Nick drove cleanly out of the lot and into the street.

"Something wrong?" Nick asked tilting his head toward's Sam.

Sam said nothing.

"Oh, silent treatment… that's very mature, Sammy."

"Stop calling me that!" Sam snapped suddenly, "I'm really just sick of people calling me that. You're not my brother, and you're not my dad, so just: stop."

Nick chuckled, "Ooh, I see,"

"No, you really, seriously, don't." Sam said.

"Your brother told you whatever it was he wasn't telling you, didn't he?"

"I'm just having a crappy day okay, is that allowed?"

"No," Nick said.

"Excuse me?" Sam said, turning towards him.

"I said no, you're not allowed to have a 'crappy day'."

Sam stared at him for a minute and then let out a cold laugh, "Is that right?"

"Mm," Nick said calmly, "If you are going to be entering a court of law and representing clients, then you are not allowed to have bad days, and you certainly aren't allowed to bring them with you to work."

He looked at him firmly.

"You do your job."

Sam turned away, "Well, I'm sure my bad mood didn't have much of an effect - you seemed to do fine without me."

Nick cocked his head, "I'm sorry, but was that spite, that I just heard in your tone?"

"So what if it was?"

Nick laughed, "So what? Do you even want us to win?"

"I don't know," Sam grumbled.

"You don't know?" Nick insisted.

"No! Alright," Sam said, "I told you before, so I don't know why I have to tell you again. I think that doctor has a point, I think that there's a valid complaint, and I think that our client is quite frankly, I gigantic dick, so--"

Nick started chuckling.

"Oh, it's funny?"

"Yeah, it is."

Sam felt the anger getting worse, swelling larger and larger inside his chest, "And I suppose that Doctor Zeke and what he's had to go through is funny as well?"

"Oh yes, poor Doctor Zeke--"

"The guy has a family! You made him look like a greedy bastard in there--"

"Everyone is a greedy bastard Sam, it's just how it is, greedy for something or other at least. Anyone has good and bad and stuff that doesn't fit into either. Yes, Doctor Zeke has a family, he also has morality and pride, and a granted six figure salary from working in the pharmaceutic industry for the past four years." 

"Alright, fine," Sam said, "Maybe he's not perfect, and maybe you're right that none one is. But I thought he was a decent guy, and I'm sure that Dick Roman is an ass, and I think you'd agree."

Nick shrugged, "It doesn't matter what I think,"

"Why?" Sam cried, "Why the hell does it not matter?"

"Because," Nick said, "The case is what matters, the argument and the thought that goes behind it."

"But if you don't care- if you seriously don't care at all, why the hell do you even do this?"

Nick looked at him, "Because I care about some things Sam, and one of those is a human being's right to make up their own damn minds, and my own ability to make up mine- to take circumstances and facts and turn them into an argument."

Sam sighed roughly and turned his shoulder towards him.

"And let me tell you something," Nick said sternly, "You'd better get used to that and fast. I'm sure that in your pretty little head the word divides all nice and clean into black and white, good people and bad people, but it just doesn't. There's grey, Sammy, a big fat ocean of uncertain, debatable, fluctuating, grey and you're going to have to learn to deal with that."

"Jesus," Sam muttered.

"And he really doesn't have much to do with it either." Nick added.

"So, you're saying, that you actually want Dick to win this?"

"I want us to win this, of course."

"But you think he's right?"

"He has nothing to do with it," Nick said, turning the wheel sharply around a corner, "I think free will has quite a bit to do with it, and that, I think, is quite frankly undebatable."

"Free will?" Sam said bitterly, "That's fine, so people should be able to do whatever the hell they please?"

"Within the extent of the law- yes."

"And what about the extent of general morality? Does that just not factor?"

Nick shrugged, "Morality is fluid."

"And that's okay? That's just as it should be?"

"It's as it is. Should be has nothing to do with it."

"Jesus!"

Nick smiled lazily, "You should calm down. Stress really is American's number one killer you know--"

"Don't," Sam snapped, "Don't tell me to calm down. You have no idea what I am feel right now so don't presume to."

"Oh I don't?"

"No!" Sam yelled, "You don't - you have no idea what it feels like to learn that your father is a completely different person in the course of two seconds! To learn that he has a whole family that you didn't even know about! A brother that you didn't know existed - that he has for years, that figure in your life who, yeah, you knew was a bit of a dick, just turns into something so unbelievable. And your own brother--"

Sam suddenly noticed Nick's face, and in that instant heard the words that were coming out of his mouth.

He stopped dead, swallowing them roughly and looked over to him.

Nick was staring at the road. He wasn't smiling any longer. 

"Shit…" Sam said, head falling back against the seat.

Nick put on his blinker and pulled the car to one side.

"Look, Nick, I--"

"Get out."

Sam stared for a minute.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I--"

Nick looked at him, "Sam, please get out of the car."

Sam stared back for a moment and then unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

He stepped out, moved to close it behind him and stopped.

"I didn't mean--"

Nick tugged the door shut for him and pulled away.

Sam watched the car for a moment as it joined with the traffic in a smooth motion.

"Shit."

He looked around and realized in about two seconds he had no idea where the hell he was. 

"Shit."

He turned, searching for something, anything.

"Sam?"

Sam turned in the direction of the voice and saw a dark haired man in a fine peacoat standing just to one side.

"It is… Sam, isn't it? Lucius' associate?"

Sam got a better look, "Mr… Stark?"

The man nodded.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, gesturing to the shape of Nick's car fading into traffic, "Bad date?"

Sam shook his head, "No… I just-- I don't know. It's been a pretty rough day to be honest."

"Are you… alright?" The Don asked.

Sam glanced over at him. He obviously looked busy and incredibly tempted to pretend he hadn't seen him at all, but, apparently despite himself, there was concern there was well.

"I just, could you tell me where I am?" Sam asked.

Don considered him, "You don't know where you are?"

"No," Sam sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, I know you really don't want to be talking to me, I'll just ask someone else. Have a nice evening."

He turned away.

A sigh sounded behind him.

"Alright, come on," Don said.

Sam looked back, "What?"

"I'm going uptown anyways, I'll drop you off at your firm."

Sam stared, "What? Seriously?"

"No, I'm fucking with you," Don said, "Christ, just get in the car before I completely regret it."

"But… um, why?"

"I'm not as much of an ass as Maggie makes me out to be, Sam. I am actually capable of being a decent human being, when she's not physically present that is."

Sam looked around himself; he really didn't have any idea where he was and he could call someone sure but who was he going to call? Dean? No. No way. And he was starting to realize that the only other person he could call had just kicked him out on the side of the road for being a complete ass so…

"Alright," He sighed, "Sure. Thank you."

"Yeah, well, it's on the way." Don said, pulling open the door to the car waiting by the side of the road and getting in, letting Sam pile in after him and shut the door.

"You have a driver?" Sam asked as soon as he was inside.

"I suffer chronic road rage. It's really for the best." 

"Ah." 

The car pulled out into the traffic and began pushing it's way uptown.

"You know Crowley tried to find you today- some of your colleagues told him you were at court."

"Oh," Sam said.

"He has a settlement offer to present…" Don trailed. Sam got the impression he was half talking to himself.

"Everything about this divorce has become such a nightmare," He sighed.

Sam laughed a bit, "I don't think that's totally abnormal."

Don shrugged, "I suppose… Sometimes I just wish we could just sit down and talk it out, but she's so stubborn,"

Sam glanced over in time to catch him smiling. 

"And you two… it's just not working?"

Don laughed, "You heard the complaints--"

"Yeah, but I don't know, I sort of got the impression that they were pretty evenly spread, that maybe, they weren't totally unforgivable for you two as they might be to anyone else."

Don sighed, "It's a big deal to her… she started this. Trust me, if I knew she would forgive me I could put this whole thing to bed."

Sam furrowed his brow, "Are you saying you still love her?"

"Yeah, of course I love her." He laughed to himself, "I can't imagine loving anyone else at this point."

Sam turned to him, "Have you told her that?"

"What good would it do? You saw how furious she is,"

"But you haven't told her how you feel?"

"It wouldn't matter--"

"I think it would." Sam said suddenly, "I mean, I'm obviously in probably the worst position to be telling you what to do, but, when my parents got divorced there wasn't yelling or screaming or any of that. They'd done all that steadily for years. It was just… well, it was like they knew it didn't make a difference anymore, like there was just no passion left, and not just romantic, anything. They were just done with each other… and well, I guess if you two still give enough of a crap about each other to care just this much, maybe it's not all lost."

Don stared at him, "You realize of course that if I did talk to Maggie, and this all did work out, that your firm would probably loose a good deal in legal fees?"

Sam laughed, "I honestly couldn't care less about that right now."

"Why? What did they do to you?" Don said.

"Nothing," Sam said, "Absolutely nothing, but I wanted to be a lawyer to help people. I actually did… which feels naive now, but hey, I guess I've got to have something. And so far, I've done far too little of that, especially today."

Don laughed shortly, "I really shouldn't buy that, you know."

Sam looked back at him, "That phrasing suggests that you might just though."

"Do you care?"

Sam shrugged, "Not really, you can do whatever you want- it's not my life."

"But you think I should tell her how I feel? Try to fix things?"

"I think you might look back ten years from now and hate yourself if you don't. I think that if you love someone, and you know that, you have to try, or else what good is anything?"

Don snorted, "Somedays it's much easier to just sit back and assume the rest of the world is the asshole, isn't it?"

Sam smiled, "Yeah… yeah you could definitely say that."

"Sure is a hell of a lot easier than giving enough of a damn to think for a minute that maybe you were wrong… at least about some things." 

The car slowed suddenly and Sam looked out to see it pulling along side the curb of the firm's building.

"You really meant that, didn't you?" Don said.

Sam turned, "What?"

"What you said, about doing this for others, wanting to help, not caring about a bottom line?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled weakly, "I know it's probably pretty idiotic, but yeah: I really mean that."

Don stared at him for a moment longer and then leaned back, "Hm."

"Well, thanks for the ride." Sam said, pushing the door open and getting out.

"I'll see you soon, Sam." Don said and pulled it shut after him.

Sam watched for a minute as the car pulled away, the red tail lights joining the rest of the glowing bits of traffic, pushing their way down the darkening street.

He put his hands in his pockets and turned towards the building, but stopped just before walking thoughtlessly up to the shining glass doors. He looked up at it- all the little windows bright, their occupants indefinable from this far away.

Across the street a department store door pushed open and a wisp of Christmas music hung in the air for a second. Sam shut his eyes. He tasted the cold on his breathe, the salt from the road, the faint scent of street food cooking somewhere nearby.

After a moment he opened them again, and with a small smile, turned down the street, away from the building before him, and headed towards home.

\---

It was hardly seven by the time Dean got back. It had taken him half an hour to convince Cas he didn't need to go to a hospital, finally winning out by insisting that if anything Cas' knuckles were worse off than the bruise he knew he'd have on his chin soon enough.

He'd managed to plow his way through the snow that had started as soon as it got dark, drag himself up the stairs, and now leaned hard against the door, fiddling with his keys.

He swore lightly as he dropped them once, scooping them up again and cramming them into the lock which was… open.

Dean swallowed. It couldn't be Sam- even when he wasn't furious with him he never got back before midnight, let alone before eight. It couldn't be Sam, which only left…

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

He should call the police, he knew that, but some stupid part of him that was still eager to land at least one punch today made him shove the door open cleanly with his shoulder.

"Hey!" He yelled as he strode into the apartment, "I don't know who the fuck is in here, but you'd better get your ass out before…"

There was a Christmas tree in their living room.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, turning around the corner.

"Jesus!" Dean said, "What the hell, Sam? I thought someone broke in!"

"Sorry," Sam laughed, "Was that your intimidation voice?"

Dean stared at him and then at the tree and then back to him, "What the hell is that?"

"Umm… a tree?"

Dean said nothing. There wasn't much to say.

"I got it." Sam said, "We didn't have one and its going to be Christmas, so… well, I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean cleared his throat a bit, "Sammy you don't have to--"

"No, I, well, it must have been really hard for you to tell me what you did… I mean, jesus, if I had to tell you something like that I don't think I would have done it without at least three miles between us- or a good thick wall and a locking door."

Dean laughed, "That would probably be a good call."

"I wasn't being fair," Sam continued, "I… I was being selfish. I can't imagine what it must have been like, and, well, I'm sorry."

Dean cleared his throat a bit, "Yeah, well, me too. I should have told you, but…"

"It was hard."

"Yeah."

Sam looked back at him, "It could be worse."

Dean laughed, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled, "I mean this is crap, and we'll have to deal with it at some point I guess, and that's going to seriously suck, and believe me, I'm still pretty damn pissed about the whole thing but… well, you're still here, and I don't hate you, and I don't want to, and we can still have Christmas."

Dean nodded once, "Yeah… yeah, alright."

Sam smiled.

"But hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you do one thing for me… for Christmas?"

"Sure, Dean, anything," Sam said seriously.

"Could you take your balls off that tree now and put them back where they belong?"

"Jerk,"

Dean grinned, "Bitch,"


	6. Chapter 6

Sam adjusted the present under his arm, glancing down quickly to make sure the paper was still in one piece and the ribbon was at least mostly where it was supposed to be.The wrapping was holding together pretty well for being 90% old grocery bag and 10% duct tape, all slapped together in the front seat of the Impala while Dean yelled at him for doing it wrong.

Sam picked up his pace down the hall, it was still early, just getting light beyond the tall glass windows, the cold buildings outside glowing orange as the sun slipped over them. Part of him was still insisting that he wouldn't be there, that getting here earlier had just been part of some game that he had no reason to play any longer, but another part that he hated and clung to all at once insisted that the universe didn't orbit Sam Winchester, and if Nick got in early it was because he wanted to and had nothing to do with him at all. Whichever it was, his stomach was a tight knot all the same.

A few associates hurried through the halls around him as he turned one corner and then another, and finally reached his office. He'd just drop his bag off, that was all, it wasn't like he was too afraid to try the door outright and seeing if he was in through the glass wall would make things easier...

Sam caught the cool metal of the handle under his palm and pushed, took a moment to turn, and-

"Holy fuck."

The ceiling was covered in mistletoe. Literally: _covered_.

Sam found himself backing away instinctively, staring in total shock at the sight, when suddenly a hand landed solidly on his shoulder.

Gabriel whistled through his teeth.

"Wow… going for subtle this Christmas, huh Sam?"

"I--" Sam began and then his eyes narrowed and he turned on the smug face, not without noticing the fact that Gabriel's tie was lighting up merrily with electric lights every half second or so.

"What are you doing here?"

Gabriel smiled at him, "I don't want to have to explain again: this is work Sam, where we conduct a business called 'the law'."

"No--" Sam cut in, "In the past two months I haven't so much as seen your face before noon… You did this."

Gabe threw a hand to his chest, "Me? For shame Sam, really--"

"I don't know how though," Sam said, turning back to look, "Do you have a step ladder stashed away somewhere, because there's no way you're tall enough--"

"Tall enough for this--" Gabe snapped and before Sam could do anything he'd locked his hand behind his neck and tugged him down to shove his lips against his.

Through the blindly shock and almost nauseating taste of sugary peppermint Sam managed to get two firm hands on his shoulders and shove him hard.

"Jesus fucking christ!" He swore as Gabriel stumbled back.

Gabe was already laughing, "Honey, I know I'm good but that might be a bit premature--"

"What the fuck was that?!" Sam almost yelled.

"Holiday sprit!" Gabe insisted, gesturing towards the green strewn ceiling, "Christ, have a sense of cheer, why don't you?"

"Oh my god…" Sam muttered to himself, "I don't think I will ever be able to eat a candy cane ever again."

"What a baby, it's not like I snuck in a reach around or--"

"Did you set all this up for _that_?!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Gabe smirked, "It's traditional - little Christmas present for my favorite new associate, and I thought I might be doing you a favor." He finished, eyeing Nick's door meaningfully.

Sam blushed and tried to shrug it off angrily, "Yeah, well I'd really rather not have any more favors, thanks very much."

Gabe didn't answer. Sam looked down at his silence only to see him eyeing the clumsy present still clutched in one of Sam's hands.

"Making amends?"

Sam was tempted to brush him off but something stopped him.

"Why?" He asked carefully, trying his best to hide the care in his voice, "Do I… need to?"

Gabe clicked his tongue, "Jesus, you two are just beyond help - I should have saved the mistletoe for the roof of the storage closet - might have at least had a chance with the barista boys."

"Wait, what--"

"Better hurry," Gabe said, turning around sharply and walking off down the hall with his swaggering pace, "If you keep him waiting any longer he might think you've forgotten about him."

Sam watched him go for a moment as he adjusted the package in his hand, which suddenly felt beyond awkward. He looked down at it - stray corners of brown paper sticking out at odd ends, the duct tape frayed and apparently good at sticking everything but gift wrapping together properly. It was a pretty sorry showing all around, but it was just the wrapping, that hardly matter at all, right? It was the present that mattered in the end.

Sam sighed heavily and before his stomach turned on him again rapped his knuckles hard against Nick's door.

The thing apparently hadn't been latched because it swung open neat and quiet, the office spreading out as it did. It really was a very nice office- well, would be, if it wasn't in a clinical state of disarray most of the time. It faced south across the park so most of the day there was a good amount of light and at the moment it was almost golden, brilliant from the shine of the buildings and the white of snow on the commons.

Nick was leant over the desk, apparently unaware of Sam's presence. He had one hand on the side of his head, leaning against it idly, the tips buried in the mess of his blonde hair. The glasses were tossed aside with the clutter of the table. He wasn't wearing a suit - just a grey t-shirt, one finger tapping idly on a leather bound book cover as his eyes scanned, freakily fast and calm enough to be disquieting, over the papers in front of him.

Sam stood there. It wasn't even that he was too scared to step in it was just… well, it made sort of a nice picture, him sitting there, calm yet focused, the light all brightness behind him, the fingers in his hair tightening just a little--

"If you want to stare, it's less obvious if you do it from your office."

Sam started, "I - I didn't…"

Nick hadn't looked up from his desk.

Sam was about to open his mouth again when he thought better of it. Quickly, he strode across the office and dropped his sad excuse for holiday spirit directly down in front of him.

Nick stared.

"What is that?"

"What does it look like?"

Nick cocked an eyebrow and looked up at him, eyes weirdly blue in the light, "Did you sign up for homeless secret santa?"

Sam sighed, "Look, just, open it, okay?"

Nick stared back at him for a moment longer and then turned to the present with just a twitch of a smile, and Sam tried to pretend it didn't make his stomach feel a little funny… probably just left over nausea from his recent and most pressing example of office sexual harassment.

Nick delicately peeled the paper from the middle in one neat strand and pushed the rest away. His hands paused for a moment when they revealed what was underneath, and then slowly he reached out and ran a hand over the leather cover.

"I know you probably have it already…" Sam said awkwardly, gesturing dumbly at the mess around them, "I saw you sort of… had a thing for books, and well, this sort of thing."

Nick's index finger slipped easily under the leather and flicked it open to the inside cover text.

"You bought me _On Being and Nothingness_ …" He said carefully.

His finger traced down the publication info and then stopped.

"Sam--"

"Do you like it? I can bring it back… well, no, I can't really, but I could find something else."

Nick stared at him seriously, "It's a first edition."

"Yeah… I thought you might appreciate that."

Nick looked down at it, hands virtually caressing the page that was open. Sam glanced away from them and swallowed.

"This must have cost you a fortune--"

"Hey, no," Sam broke in, "It's rude to talk about present prices, and it wasn't that bad. Really."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine then," Sam shrugged, "Don't… but you're paying me more than enough."

"How did you find this?" Nick insisted, easing it off the table now and swiping the duct tape as far away from it was possible.

"Some old place - over in Cambridge. I tried a couple… dozen, but they didn't have it, and I thought this would be good... best."

Nick pushed open the cover once more and gazed at the blank white space.

"You didn't write anything."

Sam laughed, "Ah, no, no I didn't. That would sort of spoil it."

"Why?" Nick asked, looking at him now.

"It's a first edition!" Sam insisted, "I though you know, the value, and all that--"

"I'm never getting rid of it."

That hung there for a minute with the golden light in the room and the smell of old paper.

Sam finally managed to clear his throat, "I guess if that's what you want."

"Please." Nick said, passing it gingerly up to him, and following it with one of his fountain pens.

Sam flipped open the cover and stared for a minute at the unsettling virginity of the page.

"I--"

"If it makes you uncomfortable--"

"No," Sam insisted with a swallow, "No, it's fine." And before he could really think about it or the dent in his checking account he scribbled the smooth ink cleanly across the page and handed it back.

Nick left the cover open for the ink to dry and glanced over the writing.

" _'Sorry for being a dick'_ …" He read, "Very poetic."

"Yeah, well...'

Nick's smile widened, "You signed your name with an extra 'm' … and a 'y'."

"Okay--" Sam said urgently trying to cut him off before this became A Moment.

"What, still rattled?" Nick said, glancing up at him with a wicked playfulness under his eye, "Was he really that awful?" He eyed the mistletoe in the other room.

"Yes." Sam said, "But what about you? You're just happy to sit in here and let your brother molest me?"

And that came out entirely, _entirely_ wrong but it was too late now--

"You got off lucky," Nick said, "You should have seen what happened to Chuck last year."

"Chuck? Is he that really twitching looking guy from corporate accounts who wanders around on the 22nd floor muttering to himself?"

"Trust me - he wasn't always twitchy."

\---

Dean piled into the elevator behind the cart, snatching up one of the frosted snowflakes as he did.

"Christ Cas, how long did this take you?"

The cart was completely decked out - frosted cookies in every Christmas shape imaginable, he'd hung a thin but nonetheless very real garland all around the outside and even hung a few bulbs off of it, not to mention the mini-gingerbread house he had on the front between the espresso machine and the decaf.

"Oh… just a few hours."

"Did you sleep?"

"I don't often sleep."

"Of course you don't." Dean sighed.

He glanced over to see Cas neatly lining all of the tree cookies back into a standing position.

"Come on Cas, the forest will be fine. Give it a rest and lighten up."

"I am rather light relative to my height."

Dean laughed, "You know sometimes I think you do that on purpose, and you're a heck ton more fun then you want us all to think."

Cas said nothing but Dean watched the little smile pull at the corner of his mouth.

And for some reason that switched something in him and he did... something. He really _really_ could not say later what the hell had made him do it, but suddenly his hand was snatching around the can of whipped cream and before he knew it he had shot some of it directly into Cas' ear.

Cas let out a yelping sound that was hilariously squeaky for someone with a voice carved out of granite and then Dean was laughing harder than he had any right to as Cas scrambled to swipe at his ear like a cat that's gotten into a fight with a spray bottle.

"Dean!" He yelled in total shock, staring at him with eyes massive and blue and Dean suddenly decided he liked that that look. A lot.

He shot the thing at him again, but Cas was suddenly, instinctively grabbing the chocolate syrup bottle, pointing it and giving it a hard defensive squeeze.

The chocolate caught Dean square in the face and he yelled in shock as he fell back, as Cas stared at his syrup toting hands like they belonged to someone else.

"I am so, so sorry-" Cas started, "I have no idea why--"

But Dean was too quick and had the caramel before Cas could blink, unloading both it and the whipped cream in his direction.

"Dean!" Cas yelped and then dropped behind the side of the cart just before getting a second shot of caramel in his hair.

Dean scrambled over the top, yelling out victory, to shoot down at him, but caught the chocolate sauce across a cheek and fell back laughing hysterically only to start coughing like mad as Cas deftly chucked a handful of cocoa powder directly into his face.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, snatching up the cinnamon sprinkler, ripping off the top and upending the contents onto his head just as Cas managed to get back on his feet and face him again and he was actually smiling, _smiling_ in this weird brilliant way and his eyes had this dark deviance to them that Dean hadn't seen before and suddenly Dean was snatching him, locking his cinnamon scattered head under his arm and emptying the rest of the whipped cream down the back of his neck, demanding begs for mercy while Cas yelled out his protests and--

"Uh- Dean?"

Dean's attention snapped up. The elevator door was open and Sam was standing there staring at him.

Nick next to him, giving Cas - who had managed to get his head upright under Dean's arm and was staring back - a thoroughly considered evaluation.

And that would have been bad… if there weren't at least ten other people behind them gawking, including Balathzar who chose that moment to start an all too deserved Slow Clap.

"Uhhhh…" Dean managed.

He could feel chocolate sauce dripping down the side of his neck and with the cocoa that Cas had throw in his face he was sure must look some racist frat boy on Halloween. He glanced down at Cas who was still locked under his arm, seeing only his hair, which looked downright ginger with all the cinnamon Dean had dumped on it.

Dean let him go all and once and stumbled back a step as Cas stood, well, stood as much as someone can under a mountain of shame. Cas went to run a hand over the back of his neck but it caught on caramel and he carefully laid it back at his side.

"Dean!" Sam repeated staring.

"Jesus, Sammy, WHAT?!" Dean suddenly yelled.

Nick's smile was growing with dangerous velocity, "You've got some cream on your face, Castiel."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam yelled at Dean, fully taking in the state of him.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Dean yelled back because he honestly didn't and what the hell was he thinking and how the hell did that get so bad so quickly and why had nothing mattered but how wide Cas was smiling and the golden warm glory feeling at was still bouncing around his chest, and _fuck_.

"You boys are supposed to hit the stop first." Nick said, evaluating the state of Cas' shoes.

"I am so, so, sorry--" Cas managed, apparently just finding his voice, even if it did sound as if it was trying to crawl away and hide somewhere.

"Just scoot over, huh?" Nick said, gesturing lazily at the cart, "We're due in court."

"We are not getting in there-" Sam insisted, eyeing the state of the elevator.

"Don't be a baby," Nick said, shoving Sam inside the small space, squeezing in after him and hitting the close quickly.

The elevator doors shut once more, sealing them off from the staring masses and Castiel sighed shakily in relief.

Nick gave Cas a once over and if Dean could see the actual color of his face he knew it would be about ten shades deeper red than usual.

"You know," Nick said turning to Dean, "You're supposed to put a cherry on top."

"Fuck off."

\---

They were actually early for once, despite the fact that Sam's shoes were still sticking to the marble and wood floors of the courthouse. He'd almost hit Dean when his brother had instinctively went to punch his shoulder for luck, but thankfully Nick had already pushed him out of the elevator and towards the car.

Lilith and Mr. Jones swayed and shuffled their way in respectively, hardly a moment after Nick and Sam had settled at the table and Sam looked away from her sharp stare, focusing on the latches of his briefcase a good deal too intensely.

"Hey there boys," Dick said as he turned around the corner and settled in next to Nick.

Nick raised his eyebrows in Sam's direction and Sam smiled to himself.

"Ready to rock and roll?" Dick asked.

"Uh--" Sam said, suddenly noticing Lilith approaching them.

Nick turned in her direction.

"Merry Christmas," She smiled at them, resting both hands on their table and bending over.

"Don't count on a happy new year," Dick grinned, toothy and arrogant.

Sam let himself groan a little and Nick nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.

"I've come to give you one last chance to settle this, as a curtsey," Lilith said pleasantly.

"You know we're really the ones who are supposed to approach you with the offers." Nick said.

"I know how stubborn you can be… and you know there's a case here, and if a judge sees it then a jury certainly will. We won't take offers once this goes to court."

"You won't be taking offers because we won't be making any," Dick said.

"Is that what your council would advise?"

"Please refrain from address my client," Nick said.

"No need - I'll address you," She leaned closer, cleavage deepening and a sort of jasmine scent leaking off of her.

"You know your close Nick, I've seen it plenty of times, and I can take it, you know I can."

"Oh well, I won't be closing." Nick said.

"What?" said Dick and Lilith at once.

"Sam's closing."

Everything went white and fuzzy for a moment.

"I - I --" Sam stammered, and then started laughing, half to convince himself it was a joke.

Nick leaned over and slipped a hand over his knee, "Merry Christmas."

Lilith stood up, "Disregard my previous statement," She said with a smile, looking directly at Sam, "Enjoy."

And with that she returned to her table.

"Nick… you are fucking kidding me?" Dick said, still smiling in a manic way, "You're just throwing her off aren't you?"

"Well, I might be, but that doesn't change the fact that Sam is going to summarize."

"No, he isn't!" Sam whispered shrilly.

Nick turned and looked him dead in the face, blue eyes calm and bright and sharp, "Yes, he is, and he's going to win."

Sam swallowed and held onto his gaze for a few moments longer than was maybe nessesary.

Carefully, he nodded.

"Okay… okay."

Nick's hand gave his leg a gentle squeeze.

"Whoa now," Dick snapped, "Just hold on one goddamn minute I--"

"ALL RISE!"

Dick shut up in one clean motion, swaying up to his feet with the rest of them.

Sam was still trying to remember how to breathe.

He hardly heard what the judge was saying as he sat and before he could manage to focus they were sitting once more and Lilith was striding to the front of the room.

"We have a serious problem in this country your honor," She said, turning once in her tight fitted skirt, "And obesity has become more than just a problem, in fact it's well past the point of an epidemic. From 1971 to 2000, obesity rates in the United States increased from 14.5% to 30.9%.

Studies have found that in this same period the amount of calories consumed by and individual in the United States rose by 168 per day - and these same studies showed that the primary factor in these increases was sweetened beverages, one of the highest users of high fructose corn syrup in America - beverages, which by the way, the latest studies have shown account for 25% of daily food energy in our children. Something has changed here, something drastic, and the results point clearly to the culprit.

It's not Mr. Jones that's the victim here, he's only one individual in a sea of fat that is drowning this county and it's youth. And sure, perhaps Mr. Roman's company is not the only one at fault here, indeed there are many products and purveyors who have led to Mr. Jones' condition and the conditions of millions like him, but does that honestly make us feel any better about it?

Just because we've found one offender (who by the way, last time I checked, provides corn syrup to 47% of American soft drink manufactures), that's supposed to mean we can let it slide? Just one in a sea of thousands carrying out the same crimes, perpetrating the same mass produced destruction on our nation… But no, Mr. Roman's company is different isn't it? It's different because they have employed drug development professionals to 'research' the effects of their products. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I personally am not buying it, and I don't think America should either.

The truth is your honor - I'm angry. I'm sick and tired of men like Mr. Roman seeking nothing but more and more and more and getting it by making us share in his greed as it turns to gluttony. They are selling sickness. They are selling death. And all of us are effected. Someone is to blame for this crisis of obesity, someone needs to be held accountable, and while he is not the only offender, he's a damn good start, and I think you'll find a jury will agree."

Her crisp voice hung in the air for a moment and then she turned, the sound of her heels following her back to her seat.

Sam took a deep breath.

The room was so quiet, he cleared his throat and the sound almost echoed. The judge stared at him, hand crossed neatly on the table. Lilith watched with smug confidence.

Sam looked over and met Nick's small calm smile. He held his gaze for a minute and finally smiled back.

"I bike to work," Sam said as he stood.

Lilith let out a snicker behind him.

"I know!" Sam said turning towards her, "People think it's hilarious. The first day I walked in and people looked at me like I was insane. I guess most people just sit in the car… or sit on the train, or sit on a bus. But sit. Somewhere. And then they get to work, and sit, and get home, and probably sit some more…

The truth is, there's more to this than just a set of complex sugars: there's a world moving forward and doing it while laying back. Technology is plowing ahead and it's letting us slow down. This is about food - but when's the last time any of us actually worked for our food? Manual labor used to be the main means of employment in this country and now, well, while those numbers that Miss. Lucius presented are terrifying, between the years of 1971 and 2000 some other things happened- not only did our calorie intake increase, but computers turned from isolated strong holds into personal necessities. You know the other day I found Dr. Zeke's testimony terrifying, truly terrifying."

Dick shifted noticaly behind him.

"Honestly," Sam said as he looked to to judge, "I found it deeply concerning, haunting even, so I went home and did some research. And what I found was very interesting.Did you know, the fattest human being ever on record was 1,400 pounds - _1,400 pounds_! And do you know when he was born? 1940. The year he died: 1983, and one year after that most major soft drink companies switched over to high fructose corn syrup for the first time. In fact, the only individual born after the 1970's on that list of all time obesity records was a grand total of twenty pounds _less_ heavy than Mister Mills Darden - who tipped the scales at 1,020 and was born in 1799… not sure they even had scales then actually…"

The judge smiled slightly and knitted his hands in front of his face.

"Miss Lucius thinks we should blame someone, she thinks Americans are sick and tired of getting fat and lazy and want to do something about it. Well, maybe the first thing they should do is stop sitting around pointing fingers and actually stand up, move more than ten feet and a time, and actually _try_ not to drop dead.

You could let this go, send it to court and a jury, and they'd probably give Mr. Jones a good deal of money, and why? Because it's what they would want for themselves, isn't it? A big fat stack of money to indulge in an even more lethargic lifestyle, and the security of being able to say this is all just someone else's fault, to say that men like Mr. Roman made them fat and sick and they can simply sit back, dying slowly but steadily, with means and clear conscience.

But that doesn't change the fact that they're obese, it doesn't change that fact that each individual piece of food they consumed was a personal choice, and it doesn't change the fact that if they actually wanted to live longer, to be healthier, to have a fulfilling life, they should maybe stop sitting around in court rooms assigning blame, and actually get up and do something about it."

And with that Sam turned back to his seat.

His chest felt as if it was on fire. He wanted to whoop and punch the air all at once and didn't know how he managed not to. He felt like he was hardly walking at all and then he was sitting down, the firm weight of the chair behind him and under him. He felt a hand slip over his and without thinking he wrapped his fingers around it. The hand stilled, as if surprised, but it was hardly a moment, and then the strong fingers were holding his all the tighter.

"Mr. Roman," The judge began, Sam looked up at him sharply, grateful for a sudden place of focus.

"I think I speak for most when I say that I find your actions morally despicable," the judge continued, "The steps this nation has taken towards gluttony are sickening on many levels, and none is more revolting than the seeming unquenchable thirst for financial sustenance… I find you reprehensible Mr. Roman. But I find the plaintive affected with the same condition.

In the end I am forced to agree with Mr. Winchester… if people will not take personal responsibility for their own well being then no amount of action taken against men such as yourself will ultimately do any good what so ever.

The defense's motion for summary judgement is granted."

The gavel banged sharply down on the wood.

"YES!" Sam said, jumping up to his feet instantly.

"Easy there, champ," Dick muttered as he gathered himself.

Nick stood and squeezed his shoulder, "Nicely done."

Sam knew the smile on his face must look absolutely ridiculous and he didn't give a single fuck.

"Thanks," He beamed.

"Now come on," Nick said leaning closer and lowering his voice enough for Dick to miss it, "Let's get out of here before he asks us to help him sue her for defamation."

Sam laughed and followed Nick quickly up the side aisle.

He glanced back quickly only to catch Lilith's eye and her expression made him slow just a tad. She didn't look sad, or even angry, well, maybe a bit angry, but there was something else there too- something he might have almost called pity.

\---

Dean groaned as the hot water crashed down over the back of his neck. His knees were sore and worn and he half held himself up with one hand pressed against the tile of the walls. Thank god for bike messengers - he really hadn't wanted to go all the way back to the apartment to clean up and the showers on the first floor of the building were a fucking blessing.

They'd both decided the only intelligent thing was to clean out the elevator first and then clean up themselves. It had taken a good deal longer than Dean thought it would have, but weirdly enough, even though his knees were sore from two hours of rubbing caramel out of carpet and he could still feel hardened chocolate sauce stuck behind his ear, he wasn't even sorry.

He tried to apologize to Cas about half an hour into the Epic Elevator Clean of 2010, but the idiot had just shook his head and started laughing in that way that was somehow light and rumbly all at once and then Dean was chuckling too and he knew that it had been worth it, was worth it.

Sometimes being a total dumb ass was just too much fun to pass up.

Dean glanced idly down at his hand were it was planted against the wall as the heat of the water eased the ache out of his back and neck and _sweet lord_ everything. He squinted suddenly at the spot near his fingers- there was a foggy imprint of a palm there, just next to where his hand was making it's own almost exactly like it. He'd let Cas take the shower first, after all the whole thing had been pretty much entirely Dean's fault, and the ginger dye job the cinnamon had done to Cas' hair was just getting absurd…

Dean stared at the hand print. It made sense, it wasn't really that incredible or anything, Cas'd been in the shower right before him, and it was totally normal for him to lean against the wall under the heat of the water just as Dean was doing now.

Dean let his hand slip a bit to the side, pushing lightly into the imprint Cas had left behind. He smiled - Cas' fingers were just a fraction longer than his, and thinner for sure. He could almost see the fingers under his, the neatly short clipped tips just peaking out from under his heavier hand. It would have little droplets and rivulets tracing it, just like they did his own right now. He could slip his hand down, press his fingers between the slightly longer ones and grip them just tight enough to know he wouldn't fall--

Dean shook himself sharply, snatched the soap off the floor and preceded to dive furiously into the task of rooting out every chunk of sticky chocolate still clinging to him.

He finished up quick enough- turning the shower handle and snatching a towel off the door. He scrubbed it through his hair first to make sure he hadn't missed any chunks of mess and then wrapped it tightly around his waist.

Cas had leant him some clothes he kept on hand and Dean looked down at them now. Simple enough: a grey t-shirt, some jeans. Dean glanced at his stomach and raised an eyebrow. This new line of work was definitely starting to take a toll on his manly physique. He stared back at the pants. The shirt at least would be okay, wouldn't it? They were basically the same height after all, but, Cas was certainly a bit, well… narrower. Whenever he reached up to take stuff off the higher shelves Dean could see his hip bones easing their way out of his jeans sharply. Dean looked down at his own waist. There weren't really hip bones so much as well, muscle? Something anyways. _Something cozy_ , he tried to reassure himself.

Well, what the hell was he supposed to do? Walk out there in his ruined jeans and claim he just didn't feel like wearing Cas' pants, but putting on his shirt was totally fine- if it even fit...

Dean grumbled and tugged on his boxers, snatching the more surmountable challenge first. He pulled the grey shirt down over his head, and it was actually okay. A little more of an Abercrombie fit than he was use to, but hey, maybe tight wasn't such a terrible thing. He glanced over at a mirror just to make sure - and yeah, not so bad, he wasn't that fat… yet.

Okay, jeans next. He tugged them on before he could think about it too much and they actually did work… mostly. He turned back to the mirror, giving himself a good handsy adjust against the tighter fit, but yeah, passable. He let himself smile, ran the towel over his hair one more time and then pulled on his boots, gathered his own messy stuff, and strode out of the bathroom.

He found Cas waiting just a bit down the hall, leaning down by one side of the cart and polishing some remaining mess off the wheels.

"Hey," Dean called as he got closer.

Cas turned and looked up at him- black hair was still wet, and pushed back from his face, making his eyes look weirdly bigger and brighter.

Dean cleared his throat, "Thanks. For the stuff I mean."

"Oh," Cas said as he stood, and...blushed? "It fits."

"Did you think it wouldn't?" Dean said defensively.

"I wasn't sure," Cas started. He gave him a rather shy once over, "You're just a bit bigger than me."

"Is that right?" Dean said, trying to pretend he wasn't having the self esteem issues of a thirteen year old girl.

"Stronger." Cas clarified.

"Oh." Dean managed, "Well... I guess that's fine then."

Cas turned back towards the cart, pushing the cleaning rag back into its place.

"Hey--" Dean said, suddenly noticing something.

"What?" Cas asked turning.

"You missed a spot," Dean laughed, pointing towards his neck.

"Did I?" Cas said, rubbing his hand over the general direction of Dean's gesture, "Is it gone?"

Dean sighed, "No, it's - ah, christ, come here--"

He reached out and turned Cas' chin with one thumb, running the other over where a bit of caramel had gotten stuck under his jaw.

Dean felt Cas staring at him with those wide eyes but tried not to notice, just as he tried not to notice how his full lips had fallen open just a bit, and Cas' stubble was almost soft under his thumb.

"Tricky one," Dean said, trying to make a laughing sound, but it caught in his throat turned into something closer to a growl which made Cas' chin go freakishly still under his hand.

And the stupid thing wasn't coming off.

"Shit." Dean muttered, and, deciding it was probably better not to think about it, he pulled his thumb up to his mouth, licked it quickly and then easily smudged the rest of the caramel away.

"There." He said, letting his hands fall back to his sides and trying his best to smile casually and ignore the way his blood was suddenly beating in his ears for no good reason, "All set."

Cas made a grumbly sound.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Thank you."

"Oh. Yeah… welcome."

Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck, "Look, sorry I lost a day of business…"

"Oh no," Cas insisted, "I gave Gabriel the rest of the cookies. He actually managed to sell the half he didn't personally consume. But he paid for them all the same."

"Alright," Dean sighed, "Well, maybe he isn't a _complete_ dick."

"He wants us to come."

"To what?"

"To his Christmas party."

"Is that now?" Dean said.

"I believe it began an hour ago."

"Jesus- what time is it?"

"Ten thirteen."

"Shit," Dean sighed.

"So, do you not… want to go?" Cas tried.

Dean glanced at him, "Do you?"

"Do you?"

Dean squinted, "Open bar?"

"I believe so."

"Sold."

\---

"What time is it?"

"Ten thirty sevem."

"Sevem?" Sam laughed.

Nick blinked once, and held himself steadier against the elevator wall, "Seven, which is precisely what I said."

Sam chuckled, "You said sevem."

"I absolutely did not."

"What is a sevem? Is that like an arabian squirrel?"

Nick laughed into the corner of his arm, "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Hey!" Sam insisted, doing his best to stay balanced, "That's a reasonable guess."

The elevator doors opened all at once and the sound of music hit them even this far down the hall.

"Jesus!" Sam swore, stumbling out the elevator.

"Come on," Nick insisted sternly snatching him around the wrist and dragging him down the hall towards the sound, "We're already late."

"We are not late," Sam insisted, "It's called pre-gaming."

"Oh, is that right?" Nick smirked

"It is actually."

"Did they teach you that at Stanford?"

"No, Dean taught me that was I was eight--"

Nick was laughing again, still pulling Sam insistently and a bit sloppily towards the music.

"What? Why is that funny?"

"It's not," Nick continued to laugh, "It's actually really quite depressing."

Sam swiped at him in a sorry attempt to slap the back of his head but missed and stumbled which only made him laugher more

"My god, how do you manage to get dressed in the morning?" Nick chuckled.

But Sam didn't have a chance to answer because Nick's back was shoving hard against the glass double doors and they were opening up into--

"Holy shit," Sam stared, "How the hell did I not know we had a ballroom?"

Nick was already waving a hand at one of the passing waiters.

Sam couldn't stop staring. It was… well, downright fucking amazing. There were at least three trees- one was maybe the biggest he'd ever seen outside of a few trips to New York City. There were lights everywhere, and ice sculptures in the shape of reindeer with shiny confetti stuck to them where it hand't manage to drift down to the floor. Everything was golden and silver and the bar was _massive_ and--

"I had no idea so many people worked here!" Sam yelled in Nick's direction.

"They don't," Nick said, leaning closer, and Sam could smell the champagne on his breath just enough to notice, "Gabriel insists the whole building can attend… and who ever the hell else wants to, really."

"Hail the conquering heroes!" A voice suddenly called and Sam turned to see Gabriel swaggering towards them, wearing the most absurd suit he'd ever seen outside of Dumb and Dumber. It was white, a red lining and a red silk shirt underneath to match, with wide lapels which made the whole thing look like something out of either Scarface, or a bad porno, or some terrible combination of both.

Nick took one look at him and shook his head as he snatched a drink off a passing tray and smiled into it.

"You won!" Gabe said grinning, slapping a hand on Sam's arm and winking, "Guess I'm good luck."

"I'd really be much more comfortable never talking about that ever again."

"Aw, Sam, what's that supposed to do for my self esteem?"

"Oi, Maybeline!" An angry voice suddenly yelled behind them.

"Uh-oh," Gabe whistled, "I know that tone- I'd gather those skirts up and make a run for it if I were you,"

Sam turned just in time to see Crowley shove his way past two or three startled dancers and head directly for him with such a furious expression that Sam really couldn't help taking a step or two back, but Nick and Gabe caught each of his shoulders respectively and held him there.

"You think this is cute do you?" Crowley said, finally reaching him, "All sweet and wonderful and everyone wins - is that the angle? Well, when I'm done with you lovely, you're going to seriously reevaluate the meaning of excessive force-"

"May I speak with you a moment," Nick said, sliding out from behind Sam and putting a hand on Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley twitched away from him, "Touch my suit again and I'll make a new one out of your little pet's hide."

"If you don't like what I have to say, feel free." Nick insisted, "Now, please- just a moment."

Crowley ground his teeth a bit but eased back from Sam, "I'll give you half of one."

"Fair enough."

Nick turned him sharply and led him out of the room.

Sam stared, "What the hell was that? What did I do?!"

Gabe raised an eyebrow, "You're joking right?"

"Yeah, Gabe, this is my joking face. See - I'm in fucking hysterics."

"You really don't know?" Gabe insisted obnoxiously.

Sam groaned,

"Okay, fine, fine," Gabe said, "He's pissed you stole his client. Jesus, can't say I'd feel any differently."

Sam stared, "But… I didn't steal his client."

Gabe gave him that pitying puppy look, "Oh come on now, don't sell yourself short there yah little star. Nick told me about it this morning. Pretty amazing really, how Don Stark called him up last night spilling some bullshit about how he and Miss Maggie are actually giving the whole to-death-do-we-part thing another go, and that he was so impressed with your integrity he wanted you to represent all his corporate business from now on."

Sam gaped, "I… but… I didn't--"

"Hey, Sam," Gabe said, stepping a little closer, "Can I give you some advice?"

"No."

"If someone is giving you credit for something, doesn't really matter if you know what the hell happened or where the hell it happened or when the hell it happened: take the credit while it's hot- you can always deny it later."

Sam didn't really have anything to say to that.

"Here," Gabe said. He snapped his fingers and a flute of champagne virtually materialized in his hand as one of the waiters melted back into the darkness, "Have a drink… or I guess another one. And hey, at least try to enjoy yourself, alright? The whole brooding thing is getting old fast."

He turned back to the dance floor, "ANNA! Dollface!" He yelled, suddenly lunging out and catching her around the waist, spinning her onto the dance floor as she tried to hold on.

Sam watched them for a minute, grinning as the girl laughed and Gabe flung himself around like a complete idiot.

"Hey,"

Sam looked to his right, "Oh, hey."

Dean grinned, pushing the beer back to his lips, "What a fucking douche..."

Sam followed his stare over to Garbiel, "What-- oh, yeah, but you have to admit, this is pretty amazing."

Dean shrugged, "Yeah, I guess I have to give him that."

"So," Sam said, "Did you clean up your food fight?"

Dean grumbled, "Yes, Mom."

"Don't get snippy at me - it's your own fault, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know," Dean said, "And know what, I don't really care- it was fun. It's Christmas - I deserve fun."

Sam laughed and shook his head, "Where is your victim anyways?"

"Hey! It wasn't like he was entirely blameless - that cocoa really stings the shit out of the eyes--"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, jesus, I didn't mean-- I'm fine. Cas is getting a drink."

"He drinks?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know, man. He's weird."

"Good weird?" Sam smiled.

"Weird weird." Dean insisted.

"Yeah, but, you like him don't you?" Sam said.

Dean's attention snapped to him sharply, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Jesus!" Sam laughed, "Just, he's a good guy right? You said he's fun, that you're having fun--"

"Oh, yeah, right... sure."

"Okay, well don't get too gushy- here he comes."

Cas was making his way through the crowded press of bodies with a neat glass balanced in his hand. There definitely was something weird about him. He was almost like Nick in the way he was sort of subconsciously graceful in his movements, but unlike Nick he seemed utterly unaware of it and weirdly clumsy at the same time. Sam really wouldn't have thought it was possible to be graceful and clumsy all at once, but watching Cas slip between bodies and make his way towards them, there was really no way to deny that.

"Hello," He said finally stepping up to them.

"Sorry about Dean, Cas." Sam said.

"Why?" Dean and Cas said at once.

"Oh, come on," Sam laughed, "I know he must have started it."

"Oh, no," Cas insisted, "It was… fun."

"See?" Dean said snidely.

Sam shrugged and looked back to the crowd: the dancers spread over the wide floor, the golden lights bouncing off the trees, the shine of the dresses, Gabe's absurd silk shirt.

"You dancing?" Dean asked idly.

"I don't know," Sam said, "I don't know if I can really top that--" He gestured with his glass towards where Gabe was attempting to transform into a human slinky.

Dean snorted.

"What about you Cas?"

Cas looked down, "Oh... I don't know how."

"What?" Dean snapped, "Come on, everyone knows how to dance, don't be an idiot."

"Dean," Sam chided.

"It's fine, Sam," Cas said, "But I don't know how. I never had instruction."

"Jesus, Cas, you don't need freaking instruction. Look!" He pointed down at his foot, "You're tapping your toe around, that's most of it right there."

Sam glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Crowley push his way back into the ballroom, looking significantly less murderous and even slightly pleased with himself.

"Dude, I have to go," Sam said.

  
Dean hardly seemed to hear him, "I mean Christ Cas, just try a bit.

"I don't understand the concept of segmented effort--"

But by then he was out of earshot.

"Hey--" Sam called, approaching the shorter man ahead of him.

Crowley hardly turned in his direction sighed and headed the other way.

"Hey, come on, hold on a second," Sam said, easily gaining on him.

Crowley turned to him with a bored expression, "What?"

"Sorry," Sam said, "I didn't mean to, 'steal you client', or whatever I did. I really didn't mean to, we were just talking that's all, I didn't know anything would come out of it."

Crowley's mouth pulled into a disbelieving smirk, "Are you honestly apologizing to opposing council for securing their eight figure contract? Bloody hell, you are adorable."

"I'm really not," Sam said firmly.

"Darling, takes one to know one."

"Okay whatever - so, are we alright, I don't have to wake up afraid of horse heads in my bed?" Sam asked.

"Sure, dear," Crowley smiled, "We're 'alright'. But I would always fear horse heads - occupational hazard I'm afraid."

"So..." Sam started carefully, "What did he say to you?"

Crowley leaned in, "It's a secret... especially for dirty little client snatchers like you."

"Okay, look, I just wanted to say didn't mean to- that's all."

"Little tip," Crowley said lowering his voice, "Take credit for everything, you can always deny it later--"

"Hey! I just said the same thing," Gabe said, suddenly appearing next to them.

"Yes, well, since I taught you that, doesn't really count, does it?" Crowley said, "And what in god's name have you put on your body?"

Gabe winked, "I"ve worn worse."

"And I've worn better," Crowley shrugged.

"Hey!"

"You started it," Crowley said, "And you still owe me a favor, if memory serves."

Gabe groaned and lolled his head back, "Are you taking payments in blood or other bodily fluids these days?"

"Both are reasonable, but I do accept scotch."

"Sold." Gabe said, "Come on Sam- come have a drink."

"I have one--"

But Gabe had already locked a hand around his arm and was following Crowley over to the bar.

They both slipped into seats up against the counter and Sam stood just behind, holding his glass defensively.

"Scotch - Craig," Gabe called to the bartender.

"You remember- I should be touched," Crowley smirked.

"Well, when you've had it poured down your chest in a confessional booth you tend to make a mental note."

Sam was wondering just how easy it would be to slip back into the crowd unnoticed before the awkward was taken to a whole new level.

"Well it had to go somewhere besides down your throat, you never could hold down anything that wasn't wrapped in a coozy," Crowley said.

"Hey - I held my own," Gabe said, "Handed your ass to you in BAR shots plenty."

"Aren't all shots bar shots?" Sam asked.

"Not bar shots, BAR shots," Gabe said with a roll of his eyes, "And I think I am still reigning champion."

"If that's the sad little fantasy you'd like to cling to, you can keep it, dear," Crowley smiled.

The bartender turned around the corner and moved to pour their scotch. Gabe's hand snatched out and caught his wrist, eyes still on Crowley, "Why don't you put your money where you mouth is?"

"For god's sake Gabriel, we're-  _I_ am a grown man. I have the mortgage to prove it."

Gabe smiled wickedly, "Scared?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

He turned to the bartender, "Leave the bottle, and give us ten glasses."

"Alright!" Gabe yelled clapping his hands together, "Watch closely Sam, this is how stars are born."

The bartender lined up all the glasses, giving them a wary look but simply pushed the bottle into Crowley's hands and left to deal with obviously more sane patrons.

"Our years or present?" Crowley asked, carefully filling all ten glasses to the brim.

"Present," Gabe scoffed.

"Massachusetts state?"

"Of course. And no cheating!"

"Darling," Crowley smirked, "You cut me to the quick."

"Watch him Sam," Gabe muttered sideways.

"I really don't even know what's going on--"

"You know this doesn't count, either," Crowley insisted, setting down the bottle once more, "If you really want to repay me you'll give me a chance to actually savor it."

"Tell you what: I win, we call it even."

"And if I win?"

"Favor's still on the books."

"Fair enough."

"Same rules?" Gabriel said.

"Of course." Crowley answered.

"Question: answer, if it's right, we both drink--"

"--If it's wrong, two down." Crowley finished.

Sam laughed, "Whoa, whoa, hold on, that makes absolutely no sense--"

"GO!" Gabe yelled.

They both snatched a scotch and threw it back.

Gabe coughed as he slammed the glass down.

"Cough," Crowley tutted, "First to me,"

"Fine, go, go," Gabe insisted with a wild wave.

"Certiorari - definition."

"Special proceeding to obtain judicial review of a quasi-judicial administrative action after a trial-type hearing and determination made by an agency." Gabe said, far, far faster than Sam could have guessed was possible.

And then in a blink they were both throwing back a shot.

"Collateral Estoppel - definition." Gabe shot.

"Issue preclusion- applies when a litigant attempts to retry an issue that has been determined against him or her on the merits."

"Shit," Sam swore as they tossed back.

"Involuntary movements that are not considered criminal acts?" Crowley grinned.

"Not the product of the actor's violation, reflex or convolution, and my personal favorite: sleepwalking."

Sam was already laughing, jesus why the hell had he not wanted to see this.

"Instances of specific intent?" Gabe asked.

"Assault, first degree, larceny, embezzlement, false pretenses, robbery, forgery, burlgary, solicitation, conspiracy, attempt."

Shots.

"Defenses for, or limited to specific intent?" Crowley asked.

"Unreasonable mistake of fact and blessed, blessed voluntary intoxication."

They clinked and tossed.

"Homicide timin'?" Gabe managed to slur. He was holding onto the table by now.

"Maybe you should slow down--" Sam pressed

"He doesn't think you can hold out," Crowley laughed, not with a slight haziness to his eyes.

"HOMICIDE TIMING!"

"Death within a year and a day of the act," Crowley spat back.

"Whoa, no," Sam interrupted, "Death may occur at any time."

"Not in the common law precious." Crowley said.

"AGAIN!" Gabe yelled, snatching the scotch sloppily off the table.

\---

"Come on, Cas, it's not hard." Dean pressed.

"I don't know how," Cas said, "As I've told you a number of times now."

"It's okay if you don't want to you know, you can just say that."

"No--" Cas said, "It's not… I would like to, I just… I don't want to do it wrong."

Dean laughed, "Okay well you're going to have to let go of that pretty fucking quick if you want to do it right."

Cas looked away shyly.

"I can show you," Dean tried, "I mean you did show me how to not fall on my ass on those skates, although I have to argue that dancing is much more likely to get you laid so it isn't really fair--"

"Really? You'd show me?" Cas asked, looking up hopefully.

"Yeah sure, I mean, it's not a big deal, you just sort of--" Dean managed, turning rocking side to side a bit.

"No, no-" Cas broke in, "I can't… it's too humiliating."

"Jesus, Cas it can't be that bad."

"There's lots of people."

"Yeah, well, that's the idea."

Cas shifted uncomfortably.

Dean groaned, "Alright, alright, come on."

He turned and pushed his way through the crowd towards the glass doors that led out of the ballroom, decidedly finishing his beer as he went. He heard a bellow of laughter and turned to see Sam hurrying away from the bar where Gabriel and that other asshole were almost giggling as he left and filling up what appeared to be their second line of shot glasses.

Cas followed neatly behind him as Dean pushed through and they wound up in the empty hall just outside, music still plenty loud.

"There." Dean said, "Fine?"

Cas nodded, "Yes. I think so--"

"Okay, so, give it a try."

Cas looked terrified, "You said you'd show me."

"Well, you have to at least try."

"But maybe if you went first…"

Dean sighed and moved a bit before stopping and shaking his head, "No, no, dude that's too weird. I'm not going to dance around in front of you like a stripper."

"You're not a stripper."

"I would _feel_ like a stripper."

"… Were you planning on removing articles of clothing because that's not--"

"No! Jesus, just try, Cas okay - it's less weird if you're at least trying."

Cas sighed and then stilled for a moment as if listening to the music. He tapped his toe first, staring down at the floor as if that made it easier. He let the beat travel up to his knee and sort of bobbed in place daintily.

"There," Dean laughed, joining in himself, "See, that's all most guys do anyways, you're a natural."

"But… I'm simply moving my body up and down,"

"Hey, you asked," Dean said, feeling himself start to move a bit more, and thank god he'd already had four beers or he might seriously be taking a good hard look at himself but he pushed that thought away.

Cas seemed to be gaining comfort with his motions, stepping back and forth slightly, even smiling a bit.

"Yeah, there," Dean grinned, "You just have to move your hips a bit,"

And Cas did, just a tad but the motion seemed to carry subtly through his whole body and Dean couldn't help just watching him for a minute. God, he was weird: weird weird. He'd really meant that. Someone shouldn't be able to be so awkward and so at easy all at once, shouldn't be able to seem tight and constrained and yet so loose and free, and so goddamn effortless. He was not too bad at all at this for being so terrified, actually pretty good at it, aware and unaware all at once, his body doing little things on it's own that his brain seemed to loose track of. It matched his clothing even, all neat individual pieces but arrayed with just a slight subtle lack of notice that weirdly, that when tossed against his anxious self-conscious tendencies showed up bright and so strangely sexual sometimes it was just undeniable.

Dean wondered if the way he kissed would match everything else: clean and fresh but with messy edges.

"I look foolish don't I?" Cas asked suddenly.

Dean cleared his throat, "What?"

"I must look rather foolish--"

"No," Dean insisted, "No, not at all."

Cas smiled at him, eyes lighting up in the dim of the hall, "Should I do anything else?"

Dean laughed, "Yeah well, I don't know, maybe move your arms a bit."

Cas tossed them up over his head with sudden enthusiasm and wiggled them.

"No, no!" Dean laughed out, snatching at them and pushing them back to a less absurd place, "Jesus, not like that… maybe just keep those out of it. Okay?"

Cas smiled back at him, "Alright, Dean."

\----

Sam leaned back against the wall, quietly enjoying the last of his (was it third already?) glass of Champagne.

"I heard you had a good day," A clean english voice said.

Sam glanced over as Balathazar leaned against the wall beside him.

"Yeah," Sam smiled, "Yeah, I guess it was a pretty good day… pretty awesome day, really."

"Well, to that then," Balthazar said, leaning his own glass over and clinking it lightly against Sam's before throwing the rest of the contents back.

"You should maybe go clean up your cousin," Sam said.

"Bit late to that party I'm afraid," Balthazar said, lifting his glass towards the bar.

Sam looked, just in time to see Crowley dragging away a laughing Gabriel by the red silk fringed sleeve- both of them stumbling along towards the door. Gabriel reached out sloppily towards Crowley in a definitely suggestive direction and Crowley slapped his hand away with a laugh, but nonetheless shifted his hold from Gabe's sleeve to his hand and tugged him a bit more insistently.

"Do you guys put something in the water?" Sam asked.

Balthazar shrugged, "Not that I'm aware of, but I have heard the most frightful rumors about city fluorine levels… and I do question the relevance of flu shots."

Sam turned back towards the room, watching hazily as the dancers spinned, all bright colors and silver and golden lights, the music seeming to slow a bit before it reached his ears.

Balthzar elbowed Sam in the side, "Hey,"

"Mm?" Sam asked turning.

"Look at our little baristas," Balathzar gestured past the glass doors with a smile.

Sam glanced over. Through the doors he could see two people dancing and laughing- it took him a minute but--

The laugh burst out of him, "Oh my god,"

He watched as Cas mumbled something and Dean's face split into a wide grin and he knocked his fist into his shoulder playfully as Cas looked up at him with his big eyes and smiled.

"When's then wedding?" Balthazar asked.

Sam shook his head and laughed but for some reason he couldn't seem to stop watching them. Dean looked… happy, really, actually, happy.

"Where's Nick?" Sam heard himself ask.

"Oh, I saw him pop out just a minute ago- I think he was heading back to his office, hey!"

Sam pushed his glass into Balthazar's hand and headed for the door.

"Cheers!" Balathzar called after him, but Sam was walking quickly even if he didn't really know why and was already pushing the door open, letting it swing shut behind him and muffle the sound of the music.

He walked down the halls - it was strange, he never really had seen them this empty. Even when he'd been in late- and he had been in _late_ \- there had at least been at least a handful of paralegals and zombified associates moving about the halls, maybe the occasional light on in a partner's office. But now, there was nothing. Which made sense, everyone was at the party after all or deliberately as far way from it as possible. It was nice really, almost peaceful. He glanced outside and saw snow falling past the buildings. Somewhere down the hall he heard something a lot like Dean's laughter and he smiled.

He walked down the hall, turned towards their offices. There was a light on in Nick's, Sam guessed the desk light.

"What are you doing here?"

Sam stopped, but no, that wasn't right. The voice was still in the office - he wasn't even close to the door yet.

"I just wanted to say congratulations," A female voice answered, also in the office, and familiar.

Sam hesitated, and then slowly stepped towards his office - it wasn't weird, he just wanted to see what he might be interrupting There wasn't anything wrong with that- it was considerate even.

He slipped into the dark of his office and peered through the glass of the shared wall.

There was someone behind the desk, but it wasn't Nick, he was standing in front of it, staring down at the blonde woman with her feet up on a stack of books.

"Some of those are collectables," Nick said.

Lilith shrugged and put her feet back on the floor.

"Thank you," Nick said, "And if you're through congratulating--" He gestured towards the door.

"Well," Lilith smiled, looking up at him through her long lashes, "Maybe there's one other thing."

Nick leaned forward, "No. There isn't."

"Your boy was good today," Lilith smiled, easily ignoring him, "Very sharp, sharper than I expected."

"Yes," Nick smiled, "I noticed."

Lilith stood and walked around the desk smoothly, "I know why you like him so much, you know."

"Is that right?"

"Mmm," She answered, slipping herself between Nick and the desk.

She leaned into him just a tad.

Sam couldn't seem to stop watching them. It wasn't spying, it totally wasn't spying. He was in _his_ office after all - there just happened to be glass wall between his office and someone else's office and both the doors were open so he _happened_ to hear what was being said, but he wasn't spying, definitely not spying, definitely not making sure he was as far into the darkness behind the door as possible--

"He's like you," Lilith smiled, running a hand down the front of Nick's tie.

"He's really not." Nick insisted sternly, voice low and rough on the edges.

"Oh, yes, that's right… he's not like you. He's the way you almost wish you could be."

Nick said nothing.

Sam could hear his own heart beating in the silence.

Lilith leaned closer, speaking just against Nick's stubbled cheek, "Is that what this is about Nick? You think if you stand close enough to someone like that you might accidentally start to care? Catch his compassion like the sickness it is? Do you think he'll complete you?" She teased.

Nick shoved her back, but she simply slipped up onto the desk and laughed.

"Oh don't be such a spoil sport," She caught her hand around his tie again, "I think it's sweet- I really do, and I can't say I wouldn't like a taste myself."

"Why are you here?" Nick repeated. His voice was calm but Sam felt the edge to it all the same.

She smiled, "I miss you."

Nick laughed in her face, "You are kidding."

"Well," She shrugged lightly, easing her chest forward, "Parts of you."

"Go bother Gabriel, I'm sure he'll be more receptive," Nick said.

"Judging by the sounds I heard coming out of the supply closet, he's been spoken for."

She eased her leg up the side of his.

"Come on," She breathed, "I know you haven't touched, Sam was it? It's plain enough how much you want to. That must be… frustrating."

Sam's breathing had gone a bit ragged on the edges, but he barely heard it.

"You don't know a single thing about what I want-" Nick said, voice low to match the closeness of their bodies.

"Really?" She pouted, lifting her other leg and pushing her knee just slightly into the space between his thighs, "Not a single thing?"

She gave her knee another little push and Sam felt his throat go dry.

"You can say his name as much as you like," She whispered against his neck, "I won't mind…"

Nick caught her thighs before Sam could blink and slammed her back as she let out a short laugh.

Books spilled off the side and clattered to the floor. She reached up to tug at his jacket but he caught her hands and held them tight above her head.

 _Jesus christ--_ He should really stop watching. He should really stop watching _right now_...

She was staring back at Nick, eyes dark and wide and lips smiling in a taunting daring way.

Her tongue darted out and licked cleanly across his lips once and then he was kissing her.

Sam felt his groin tighten with one firm jump, which was totally, totally normal because there was a beautiful woman spread out on a desk and he was more than a bit drunk, and it didn't matter that he wasn't looking at her thighs as her skirt slipped down past her stockings, or barely noticing the way she arched her back or ground her knee back and forth, it didn't matter that he hardly saw any of it because he couldn't stop watching the way Nick kissed her.

It was slow and so deep it was like he was starving. Sam couldn't stop watching, couldn't even blink, not with the way his stubble pressed against her cheek, the way his graceful fingers held her jaw as if daring her to try and shift the depth, and when his teeth flashed suddenly as they caught her lower lip Sam heard his own shallow half of a groan mingle with her own louder lewder one.

And christ, he should really, _really_ stop watching this, really look away from how his hands tightened easily against her wrists and the way his hair was just off to one side and- _fuck_ \--

Nick let one hand drift to her side, slowly stepping it's way higher and high until it rested in the valley between her breasts. He pulled back then from the kiss, and Sam almost groaned again but managed to bite it back.

Lilith didn't and surged forward to catch his lips again but his hand on her chest spread and pushed her back down firmly.

She stared up at him, eyes dark and heavy and he leaned back over her, lips close enough to brush, he parted them just a tad--

"Get out."

And then he was standing, straightening his jacket calmly and turning to tidy the books off the floor as if nothing had happened, as if there wasn't a woman lying spread and shocked across his desk.

She stared at the ceiling for a moment, breathing ragged, eyes wide, and then all at once she was on her feet, walking calmly out the door.

Sam let out a little gasp and tossed himself firmly behind his door, back hitting the wall as she passed in silence.

His mind was one hot white mess and he felt himself throb once more, tight and desperate and without thinking he was suddenly letting himself slip down to the floor in the small space between the door and the wall, shoving his palm against his aching cock to try and get a hold of himself, but jesus that had been a mistake, and he instantly had to smother the sound of relief that tried to scramble out of his throat.

He shut his eyes tight, knowing he really should stop right the fuck now, but his hand was pressing tighter, back and forth against the wool of his suit pants and he tossed his head back against the wall and bit back a curse in the dark close space.

Through the mist of pleasure and confusion he could hear the dull sounds echoing out of the other office, the gentle noises of books being put back in place, a chair being pulled back, a body easing into it.

Sam felt himself jump under his hand and he couldn't stop himself from quickening the pace, pushing harder, feeling the damp already seeping through, but god he really could not bring himself to care and that should matter more but it didn't, it just made it worse and he was shifting, rocking his hips harder, trying to keep his breathing quiet, trying not to groan against his teeth.

He shut his eyes tighter against the dumb, firm press of his hips. He saw hands tighten on wrists, careful and persistent and strong. He felt a thumb easing with steady consistent pushes into the flesh of his leg, felt a hand still in surprise when Sam held it (and god he really had done that hadn't he) and then sink in, deep and heavy and sure.

And shit-- he was way too close now, way too fast, and way too drunk and he struggled to pull the image of Lilith's spread lips into his head as he stumbled towards the edge, but all that flooded in was Nick's mouth open and wet pushing into her's, teeth catching just--

"Ah--!"

The sound fell out of Sam's mouth in a messy heap as he shoved blindly down and the warm damp seeped through under his palm, sticky and thudding and hot, _and god_ that had been too, too loud, but that thought only sent one last pulse through him and he fell back with a gasp, head hitting the wall firmly in the dark, hair sticking to his forehead just a bit, breath clambering to return to normality.

_Shit._

He knocked his head against the wall again for good measure.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Sam listened, or tried to through the haze, but anything he heard was perfectly normal. There wasn't an awkward spanning quiet or the sound of someone striding into the office to pull the door open and reveal him for the wreck he was- just the gentle shuffle of papers, the occasional squeak as the chair shifting under adjustments for comfort.

Sam knew he was going to have to stand up, find someway to quietly make his way out of there, probably fall in a snow bank to cover up the mess he'd made of himself and tell Dean it' been a drunken accident…

But not yet... not just yet. So he sat, sat and listened to the quiet sounds from his office, and tried, at least for a few moments, to convince himself he wasn't completely and utterly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what happened between Crowley and Gabriel after Sam left, there's now a fic for that :D
> 
> [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/893193)


	7. Chapter 7

Sam woke up in pieces. His ears got there first, followed half a second later by his head, throbbing viciously with each pounding echo sounding through the apartment, and what the fuck was it, and why the fuck was he even conscious, and how much had he ended up drinking last night, and why the hell wasn't Dean _getting the goddamn door?_

His mouth got there next.

"DEAN!" He groaned as loudly as he could manage without feeling the need to roll over and vomit off the side of the bed.

Another sound made it's way through the mist of pain in his head, a sort of growling groan that Sam translated into: "you get it you fucking asshole."

It was the door. It was that persistent wooden banging Sam had learned only came from either Dean enjoying the sexual enthusiasm that morning can provide or the door, and since Dean sounded even more hung over than himself: door - it had to be the door.

Sam shut his eyes tighter, preparing the inventible slice of light when he opened them. He took one deep breath through his nose and slowly, very, very damn slowly, lifted himself to his elbows. It hurt all the same.

He opened his eyes.

"Urhgg--"

It wasn't sunny at least, just blessed, blessed New England overcast.

Very carefully he sat up and swung his legs over to the cold of the floor. He sighed in preparation. Some mornings six-feet-five-inches was just too far of a distance to have to stand.

The door was still knocking with persistent viciousness, although who ever it was seemed to be entertaining themselves now by forming Queen melodies.

Sam stood, wobbled, swallowed sick, and finally stumbled towards the hall with one hand firmly on his head, as if he could hold it there if it decided to roll off and go back to bed without his permission.

The banging was even louder out in the hall.

"Will you shut them the fuck up!" Dean groaned from behind the door of his room.

The knocking got louder.

"I'm coming!" Sam yelled, letting his free fall towards the door pick up pace.

He caught the knob even as another pound landed.

"Jesus, just shut up!" Sam fumbled with the chain and the lock and the second lock and finally tugged it open just before another blow could land.

And stared.

"Did you tell me to shut up?" Nick asked.

He didn't seem too concerned about waiting for an answer, instead letting his gaze drift over Sam curiously as he leaned against the doorframe and shit, why the hell had he not pulled jeans on, that's really the first thing you're supposed to do, hung over or not: pants, pant were very important… shirts too. Definitely shirts. Any clothing at all really. Very important.

"Hello, Sam." It was another voice, peering over as Nick's swaggering presence filled the doorframe, still evaluating… slowly.

"Cas?" Sam managed, trying to ignore the appraisal he was being subjected to.

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Uhh…?" Sam managed.

"Who the fuck is it?" Dean's foggy voice yelled from somewhere back in the apartment.

Sam ignored him.

"Well?" Nick asked, finally looked back at his face.

Sam stared, "Do… you want to come in?"

"Rather thinking you'd come out actually."

Sam's head gave a sharp throb so he pushed his hand tighter against it,"I… What?"

"Well, we are double parked and since you'll have to pack a few things before we leave I figured we wouldn't want to delay you."

"Sorry, did you say _leave_?"

"Yes, Sammy." Nick said, giving him that pitying face again.

There was a fumbling crashing sound behind Sam and he guessed Dean was trying to actually stand.

"Leave where?" Sam asked.

"Here." Nick said deadpan.

Sam sighed, well meant to, but the hangover caught it half way and strangled it into a groan.

"For a break." Cas said from behind Nick's back.

Sam tried to make his brain work properly. Maybe he was still asleep in the nice warm bed surrounded by blankets, not standing half naked in the doorway talking to people apparently in a totally different language.

"You said you asked him yesterday," Cas shot accusingly in Nick's direction.

"I thought you said you did--" Nick answered.

"Okay, okay, what break? What's going on? Why are you here?"

Cas scooted a little closer to the door, not without, Sam noticed, peering inside briefly as if he was looking for something shyly.

"Our family owns a small house in Vermont and often times Gabriel, Nick, and myself will try to take some time there at the end of the year to…"

"Unwind." Nick picked up, "Usually we take the weekend after the Christmas party."

"And you're here because…"

"Because you're going to come with us." Nick answered.

Sam stared back, "Is that right?"

"Mmm,"

"If you'd like--" Cas added.

Sam squinted, "…Right."

"Sam!" Dean yelled, stumbling into the hall favoring one leg, speaking pretty well to the crash from before, "What the fuck?!"

Cas' eyes went wide for a minute as Nick took to evaluating again.

Dean saw them and he stopped half way through his aggressive approach, "…Cas?"

Sam got the sense that Castiel's body wanted to be in ten places at once and couldn't decide on any of them so instead settled for sending out seriously awkward vibes that seemed to go directly to the pounding in his head.

"Look Castiel," Nick smiled, gesturing in a lazy sort of way towards Dean, "Boxers after all - you owe me a twenty."

Cas' cheeks instantly went crimson and he stared sternly at their floor, "I made no such wager."

Nick shrugged at Dean, "Sore loser. He was so certain before--"

An elbow caught Nick in the ribs but he only laughed as Cas continued to stare at the floor like it had caused global warming.

"Sam?" Dean asked, holding a hand to his head, "What is your creepy boss doing here?"

"Oh come on, let's be fair," Nick shot, "Your creepy boss is here to."

"I'm not his ' _boss_ '." Cas muttered through the still furious blush slapped all over his face.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

"They want us to go to Vermont with them." Sam said, wishing the sarcasm that tried to sneak into his tone was justified.

"Excuse me?"

"For the weekend."

"Now?" Dean said.

Nick tapped his wrist mockingly.

"We were just at that damn Christmas party last night--" Dean started.

"Exactly," Nick said, "Don't want to let the whole weekend go to waste."

Sam's subconscious seemed to be taking over without his permission, "It would be nice to get out of the city--"

"Sam." Dean frowned.

"You were just complaining about the noise two days ago--"

"Sam!"

"What?"

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Sam stared at him. Nick crossed his arms and settled against the door frame eagerly.

"Alone." Dean said in that voice he used sometimes that sounded so much like their dad it was almost stupid.

Nick sighed.

"Yeah, alright, sure," Sam said, heading back towards him, "What?"

Dean pretty much manhandled him down the hall, into the kitchen, and out of sight of the door.

"What the fuck?" He whispered harshly.

Sam managed to catch himself on the counter before smashing his knee on the stove, "What?"

"What the hell is this? You're going on trips with this creep now?"

"Um… no. Did you not hear the whole 'we' part of the invitation?"

Dean's expression didn't loosen.

"He's weird Sam."

Sam laughed, "Yeah, I noticed."

"No… I mean he's _Weird_ \- with you. I don't like it. I let it go because he's your boss, I don't know, it's a work thing, I figured you could deal with it. But if I saw someone treating you like that in a bar I'd be telling you to keep your hand fucking sutured over your drink--"

"Oh my god Dean, he's not going to ruffie me!"

"You sure about that?"

"Jesus christ…" Sam leaned against the fridge, letting his head fall backwards as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

Dean lowered his voice, "Look… I'm just concerned is all. He looks at you like he wants to keep you in a closet somewhere and freaking spoon feed you. And okay, whatever, maybe it's some macho-letigious-head-game, I really don't know what sort of mojo these law firm douches fuel themselves off of. But coming here? How the hell does he even know where you live?"

"Did you just say 'litigious'?"

"Focus Sammy!"

"He's not a serial killer Dean, it's fine, and Cas probably told him how to get here. Didn't you tell him this was where our place was?"

Dean looked away, "Yeah, alright, maybe but still…"

"So… you don't want to go?"

Dean continued to look pretty much anywhere but Sam's face, "I didn't say that…"

Sam laughed, "Ah, okay. I see how it is."

Dean's wide eyes snapped back to him, "See how what is?"

"It. The whole thing," Sam said.

"There is no ' _whole thing_ '." Dean snapped, air quotes and all.

"Oh come on Dean, if my boss looks at me like he wants to keep me in a closet, yours looks at you like he's already half way through the shrine construction and just needs a lock of your hair to call it complete."

Dean gave Sam a look that could probably toast bread.

"And I've seen you staring at him too, you know," Sam added as he leaned back again.

"What?!" Dean snapped in a low voice, moving closer with an accusatory finger, "I do not!"

"Seriously?" Sam asked, "I thought you stopped pretending you didn't notice guys in front of me after I caught you with that dude in high school."

"Hey!" Dean hissed, "First: fuck off. Second: 'that dude' was the best Metallica cover front man I have ever seen, so you can cram it."

"You sure did." Sam said. He really couldn't help himself and was too hungover to try.

Dean seethed. He turned away sharply and started striding out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Sam called to his back.

"To fucking pack!"

Sam let himself smile for a minute before walking back into the hall.

"Alright," He called, "We're packing. Want to wait inside?"

Cas paused but Nick easily walked in, looking around.

"Nice place," He said idly, glancing up at Sam with a small smile, "Got much closet space?"

\----

It had been hardly an hour, but Sam could already feel him stomach trying to transform back into something not filled with hazardous waste, and the warm paper mug full of tea was definitely helping. Nick had pushed it into his hands as soon as he'd gotten into the car, front seat- which Dean had of course given up because of Sam's lower body length and not at all because he enjoyed the company in the back.

Sam sunk deeper into his winter coat, trying not to think about the fact that Nick had come prepared for his hangover, and, perhaps worse still, for his acceptance of fairly sketchy impromptu road trip. But whatever, that wasn't really important, what was important was in his hands all minty and warm and sweet in a strange way…

"It's cactus honey." Nick said.

Sam glanced at him, confused.

"In the tea," Nick said, eyes on the road.

Sam continued to stare, "Oh…?"

Nick sighed, "You made a face. You do that. It's cactus. It helps."

"Where the hell do you buy cactus honey?" Dean muttered from the back seat.

"Internet."

"Why the hell do you buy cactus honey?"

"It helps."

Dean snorted.

Sam shrugged, "It does."

"Well, I'm glad you brought enough for everyone," Dean said.

"Don't be bitter, someone thought you wouldn't like it." Nick said.

Cas' voice rumbled bashfully out of the back, "I didn't think you liked herbal tea…"

Nick swung the wheel to one side.

"Are we stopping?" Sam asked.

"Apparently so." Nick said.

Dean was adjusting himself again in the back seat, "I still don't see why we couldn't take mine…"

"Primarily because I don't especially like watching bits of ozone crash out of the sky behind me, but more importantly I don't think you'd like seeing bits of Chevy crashing onto the dirt roads we are inevitably encountering."

Dean made a noise Sam might call half-assed-agreement.

" _Why_ are we stopping?" Sam tried again.

"We're still two short." Nick said.

Castiel shifted in the back seat, "Two?"

"So I've been informed," Nick said, "Recently,"

"I think you overestimated the vehicle's capacity," Cas insisted.

Dean groaned, "Let's just go, jesus--"

"Gabriel always comes with us," Castiel said. Sam could almost hear his brow furrowing as these realities tried to merge.

"Gabriel?" Dean snapped, his tone gaining strength, "You are fucking kidding? That really should have been part of the trip description--"

"Here they are," Nick said, glancing out to the street.

Sam glanced over, "Oh shit."

"No," Dean insisted, with sudden alertness, "No, no, _no fucking way_."

"Morning," Crowley said as he pulled the car door open and Dean scooted as far over as possible, almost crushing Cas against the other door.

"It's going to be cozy one way or another, dear." Crowley sighed.

"It's really, really not, and what the fuck are _you_ wearing?" Dean asked, craning over to get a look at Gabriel.

Sam was already ahead of him, " _That_ is not going to fit in here."

Gabriel was wearing - no, scratch that - _being consumed by_ the single largest parka Sam had ever seen: a giant, purple, parka.

Nick was evaluating him, "Seriously, Gabriel?"

"What?" Gabe grumbled in the most distinct I Am Not a Morning Person voice.

Nick raised an eyebrow.

"I don't like being cold," Gabe said, knitting his arms tighter around his chest, "Vermont is cold."

"You'll be fine," Crowley said, kissing him on the cheek.

Dean made a gagging noise, "No, seriously: no. Bring us back."

Cas turned the two inches it took to face him, "You no longer wish to come?"

Dean made a throughly cranky noise, "We can take our own car. There's not enough room in here anyways, we're one seatbelt short. And fucking Grimace here-" he gestured to Gabriel, "Is definitely not going to fit."

"No one likes a Sally McSnidy," Crowley said cleanly.

Sam looked back just in time to see Dean mouthing 'Sally McSnidy' over again just to be sure he'd actually heard it.

"It's only three hours Dean," Sam said, "Less even, if the highways are clear,"

"Traitor," Dean grumbled.

"Taking yours without sugar this morning I see, Castiel--" Crowley said.

Cas ignored him, leaning over to see the mass of purple Gortex "Gabriel, do you really need to… bring him?"

Gabe's cranky morning face took it up a few notches, "You get to bring your toys--"

"Hey!" Dean snapped.

"If everyone could managed to shut up and get in the car within the next hour or so--" Nick said, tapping his finger on the stick shift.

"How the hell are they supposed to get in the car? There's no room," Dean said.

"We'll stack." Crowley said.

"Excuse me?"

Crowley slid in and tapped his lap invitingly.

"And I have to be the one on top with my neck bent the wrong way?" Gabe scowled.

"Well, since I was last time I thought it would be only fair to trade."

Dean looked as if his nausea was resurfacing with a vengeance.

\------

As soon as they were out of the city Sam let himself relax in the knowledge that this had been a good idea after all. They were off the Mass Pike already and the trees were close to the road, grey and black and thinning at times to open to fields and marshes, all covered in seamless white.

Dean had spent the whole first hour elbowing Crowley's side to try and push him over and yelling at Gabe when he tried to put his feet up on his lap, all the while shoving stoic silent Cas in the process tight against the passenger door, but weirdly he didn't seem to mind.

Nick had flicked on NPR and hardly seemed to hear any of it. Sam had glanced over at him with his empty paper mug in his hands (he didn't really feel right throwing it on the floor). Nick had this a little smile on his face, listening calmly while Tom Ashbrook's everything-will-be-alright-in-the-end tone oozed out of the speakers. It was almost as if despite the war raging in his back seat he was actually incredibly pleased with the situation, in a quiet sort of way, and Sam felt his smile moving to match despite himself.

By the time they were in New Hampshire the bickering had fallen into silence.

The car slid past a barn, red striped away into wooden grey by the weather, cows scattered over the muddied yard that spread out and back into white hills. There was something else on the radio by now - someone with Terri Gross, a cellist whose music came on about every ten minutes or so. It was nice. Sam found himself wondering if he'd ever really woken up fully once this entire day. Maybe that should worry him more, but hey if it had he might have been sensible enough to not agree on some crazy weekend vacation and he was already way too glad he had.

He let himself slip further into the seat- Nick's car was the sort that gave priority to front seat comfort and Sam's legs actually fit without knocking against the dashboard, although that probably wasn't helping Cas' situation, not that they could possibly be any more uncomfortable back there. Sam shifted in his seat, easing the warmth of his coat up around his ears. He'd grabbed his old Carhart one on the way out and was half realizing that this was probably the first time Nick had seen him in anything besides a suit. He wondered if it was about what he's expected, or if he'd expected anything, or even thought about it…

"Hey," Nick's voice was soft, and Sam turned towards him.

Nick gestured with a bob of his head towards the back seat, grin spread over his face.

Sam looked over his shoulder and barely managed to choke down his snort.

They had all merged into one unconscious mass of winter clothing and exhaustion. Gabe was practically spread out on top of all of them, head leaned back on Crowley's shoulder and the strap of the seatbelt. He'd managed to get his legs up onto Dean's lap after all, but Dean didn't seem to notice from where he'd passed out against Cas' chest. Cas' cheek was pressed flat against the cold of the window, but one of his arms had looped up behind Dean's back and had emerged to rest on Gabe's knee.

"And to think they were ready to tear each other's throats out half an hour ago," Sam smiled.

"Shh," Nick said, leaning closer to him, "Don't ruin it."

Sam smiled and leaned back.

"At least not before you take pictures."

\---

They got there just as the sun was calling it quits. Somehow Sam hadn't really noticed the time at all until now. The sun was low over the old rounded mountains and hit the even white spread of the snow orange and red and pink. The light caught on the old glass windows of the house coldly, silhouetting the stark trees scattered over the field.

The place was smaller than Sam had imagined, and more of a farmhouse really than anything else. Part of him had been imaging some cabin, but that was a bit stupid since it wasn't like this was Canada or the Rockies, he'd just had some vague memory of visiting one of Bobby's friends here when he was little and the memories of a wood paneled sawdust smelling existence had pervaded. But that wasn't what this place was. This place felt old and simple and calm.

It was… nice. Really. Just, nice.

In the back seat he could hear the steady breathing from the pile of hungover exhausted bodies, still unstirred.

Sam let his eyes swivel just enough to see Nick. He was leaned back in the leather of his seat, gazing calmly out at the field and the hills, the snow and the light. He had sunk a little deeper in the seat - his peacoat pulled up around his ears. He didn't have a hat, and the light lingered in his hair as if it had found an old friend.

Sam realized he'd actually turned his head to join his eyes, his cheek resting on the leather of the headrest as he looked at him, and that might be something, but in the evening, with the sleepy lingering warmth of the car and his headache finally vanishing it didn't really matter.

He hardly noticed when he felt the side of a hand brush against his own. It was warm, like the sun against his cheek. Maybe he was asleep too, like the rest of them, he must be because his fingers shifted, slipping around the slightly shorter thicker ones that were a bit rough on the edges.

The ends of fingers pushed neatly into his knuckles just enough to let Sam's hand open a bit more. A thumb pressed up the length of his in one smooth slide and Sam felt his lips slip apart.

"If we are stopped," A grumbling British voice sounded out of the back, "I would like to try and regain circulation before my legs stop working altogether."

Sam shook himself out of the haze, the warmth suddenly not quite so present. He glanced down, Nick's hand was on his own seatbelt, snapping it off and preparing to step out into the crunching snow of the drive.

\---

Apparently Gabriel was one of those obnoxiously buoyant hangover suffers because he bounced out of his morning crankiness into an equally powerful hyperactivity pretty much the second they were out of the car.

He'd landed a snowball directly on the back of Sam's neck before they'd even gotten inside and was now insisting he was making them all dinner despite Nick groaning, Cas blanching, and Crowley gently arguing that generosity didn't extend as far as food poisoning, but none of it seemed to work and Gabe had made it to the store and back with supplies in less than an hour.

Sam managed to sneak off to one side while everyone was busy bringing things indoors to have a look at the place on his own.

It was getting darker fast - Sam was wondering if they had really been woken up just that early after all. The sun had already fallen behind the mountains and everything outside and in was drenched in blue. It was a nice house - simple tasteful furnishings, not much else. It was nice, but it felt strange, hollow, like most places feel when people hardly use them, like things in paintings rather than realities.

He stood in one of the bedrooms - looking at the long navy shadows falling in the indigo light and how the snow outside almost looked phosphorescent. He wondered idly what this house had seen. He imagined a younger Gabriel shooing a pack of giggling teens up the stairs and tumbling into the bed by the windows. He could see Cas sitting on the old stone wall that lay between the house's backyard and the small group of apple trees just beyond. He wondered if Nick had ever taken her here.

 _No_ , he reminded himself firmly. He wasn't thinking about that.

He'd done well enough getting home and collapsing into bed without having a panic attack. Dean had hardly seemed to notice the fact that he was half soaked from falling in a snow bank and distinctly more quiet than usual. He'd been grateful for that, and it was stupid anyways. He was drunk. That was it. It was stupid - nothing else, just a stupid drunken accident and a gorgeous woman spread out on a desk and nothing, absolutely _nothing_ else.

"SAM!" Dean yelled from somewhere down stairs, "Get the fuck down here and tell your idiot boss that Empire is better than New Hope!"

Sam was halfway down the stairs by the time Dean finished the sentence, even if he would just make it worse, because who were they kidding Returns beats them both any day.

\---

"Gabriel - I'm asking you for the last time: give me the spatula."

Sam was frankly stunned at how calm Crowley could keep his voice when half the kitchen was filled with smoke.

Dean was laughing hysterically with his head in the crook on his elbow on the stool next to Cas who was two beers ahead of him and staring at the stovetop like it was trying to come to life.

"No!" Gabe yelled over his shoulder, splaying himself out protectively between the food and Crowley's frowning patience, "It's going to be beautiful, no: fucking majestic!"

"I think we'll all take edible over majestic thank you, fucking or otherwise."

"Step back - or I'll fork you, and you should know that's not a threat."

"Do you even know _what_ you are making?"

"It will come together - cooking is merely creative expression. You are trying to strangle my creative expression!"

"Gabriel," Nick tutted as he adjusted the fireplace in the attached living room, "Last time you caught this place on fire our insurance increased considerably."

"You know that was your fault!" Gabe yelled, turning in Nick's direction.

"Really? It was my idea to fill water balloons with the extra gasoline from the generator?"

"It was your idea to see if they would stand up to 'stress testing'," Gabe insisted, stepping towards him just enough that Crowley managed to slip easily in front of the stove, turning the burners down a good half turn while his other hand started tossing the vegetables expertly in the skillet.

"That is merely proper planning - and it's not my fault that your little companions decided to see if throwing them in the fire pit would 'look badass',"

"Hey, they were enthusiasts - that's all one can really ask. Hey--" He cried suddenly turning to see Crowley performing dinner diagnostics.

"You've made a wonderful start, dear, just let me finish," Crowley said without looking at him, "Anyways, you can spend all this time I've saved you doing dessert."

Gabe huffed, "I suppose…"

Sam leaned further over the counter and glanced into the living room where Nick was still prodding at the fire. It was weird - thinking it over they'd hardly had half a conversation this whole day. But it didn't completely feel like it. He didn't feel distant, even if he was hardly looking at him. Sam felt like he knew he was there all the same and weirdly that was enough to feel calmer than he had in a while. Jesus… maybe he'd never stopped being drunk after all.

When it came down to it Crowley actually turned out one of the best dinners Sam'd had in a long while. He even caught Dean rolling his eyes a few times despite himself, and when Gabe whipped up chocolate mousse to finish Sam was shocked for ever doubting him because _dear god_.

They ate strewn around the living room, the light of the fire flickering around them. Gabe and Crowley shared one couch, Cas sitting between Nick and Sam on the other and Dean leaning back in the armchair, trying to pretend he wasn't practically groaning over the dessert as he went back for seconds and then thirds and maybe managed to be at least a bit guilty about fourths.

Gabriel and Crowley argued in a teasing bickering sort of way, Nick and Dean joining in occasionally and Sam and Cas getting called in to ref when the situation demanded.

Sam was trying to focus on the conversation, trying to stay involved, but there was a peace to the room that was soothing him into a place of quiet observation. The sound of voices became a pleasant buzz, the tastes lingered in his mouth as did the gentle heat of the fire on his cheeks, it soothed and calmed, but it wasn't tiring, he didn't feel his eyes slipping shut or even being tempted to do so. He felt present. Just present: here, for now. He wasn't thinking about being up early enough in the morning, or wether or not he'd have to dodge calls, or deal with traffic, or avoid Zachariah like the plauge. There was none of that, just the fire and the sound of voices arguing, not fighting, and that felt right. Somewhere through the haze he found himself wondering if this was what having a family felt like, or maybe if this was just what he'd always hoped it would feel like.

Gabe and Crowley quit first. Sam was hardly paying attention by then but caught something about "actually having things to do before falling asleep unlike the rest of them". Sam managed to mutter some form of 'yeahthankyou' for the dinner and frankly orgasmic mousse before they disappeared down the hall with the sound of Crowley's lower voice and Gabriel's easy laughter.

Sam managed to join in at least a bit for the next hour while Dean berated Cas for never seeing Enter the Dragon or Die Hard, but eventually Dean's face started splitting into fat yawns and his eyelashes were weighing even heavier than usual.

"I think we just have to agree on a marathon and leave it at that," Dean said as he stretched out against the armchair, "Cause I'm going to pass out, so you'd better show me where you'd like that to happen."

Cas was already standing, "I'll help you find a guest room,"

Dean nodded sleepily and pulled himself out of the chair.

"Don't stay up too late gabbing you two," He added sarcastically and Sam realized that was about right since Nick seemed to be suffering from the same lazy effect the room was having on himself.

\---

Dean was still laughing by the time they got to the top of the stairs. His head was just misty enough that he had to focus on where he was stepping, but he felt pretty good about not waking up tomorrow morning and having sunlight inspire wishes for a speedy execution.

He could hear Cas behind him, laughing in that low way that wrinkled his nose and made his eyes crinkle on the edges.

"You should really lead the way, I have no idea where the hell I'm going," Dean said half turning.

"You are doing well so far," Cas said, finishing the stairs and stepping up beside him.

"This place is pretty sweet, Cas, not gonna lie," Dean said, leaning back against one of the walls and looking around. The timbers reminded him of Bobby's place and there was a smell to places on dirt roads in the winter that made him feel calm in a way the city never did.

"Are you glad you came?" Cas asked, standing a short way from him at the top of the stairs. He looked a rumpled, maybe just a bit drunk too, which would make sense since he'd had twice as much as Dean had, but Dean was starting to suspect he didn't totally handle booze like a normal person.

Dean was half ready to say something sarcastic and stupid but, "Yeah, Cas," Just came out instead, and even weirder, "You glad I came?" followed right after it.

Cas smiled at him in that way that really shouldn't still be making Dean's stomach tighten up every single goddamn time but it did anyways. Cas' hair was even messier than usual and Dean found himself putting his hands in his pockets before he reached out to try and brush it back from his face.

"Yes, I'm very glad you came." Cas answered, "It's much better with you two here… maybe the best it's ever been."

"What are you kidding?" Dean laughed, "We haven't' stopped fighting since Gabe and his limey boy toy got in the car."

Cas' eyes darkened slightly, "That's not fighting, Dean, not really.. trust me,"

"Okay, well bickering at least," Dean conceded.

"Bickering is different," Cas said, "It's… it's what you and Sam do. It's good. It's familial."

Dean chuckled, "Oh yeah? Sam and I are just ideal family role models, huh?"

Cas looked at him seriously, "Yes, you are."

And okay his stomach really, really needed to cut this whole swoopy thing right the fuck out.

"I don't know about that Cas," He shook his head, lifting himself off the wall.

"All I know," Cas said, "Is this house feels warm tonight. It feels like a family, or at least like a family should… that's something we've never truly had before."

Dean let himself look into those stupidly blue eyes for a minute before awkwardly clearing his throat.

"So what?" Dean asked, trying to brush aside the knots in his chest by looking down the short hall, "Pick a door any door?"

"Left or right," Cas smiled, "The one at the end is a bathroom."

"Alright," Dean said clapping his hands together. He shut his eyes, did a little spin and pointed, "Door A it is!"

He pushed open the door. Nice. Of course.

"Are you taking Door B?" Dean heard himself asking, turning back to Cas.

"Oh--" Cas started, "Well, there's only three bedrooms. I thought it would be best to save the other for Sam."

"Where are the rest of you going to crash?"

"Gabriel seems to have claimed the master already, but there's a couch that I'm sure Nick will be happy with and I'll find something."

"Like what?" Dean scoffed, "The floor?"

"It's fine Dean," Cas insisted.

"Bullshit, this is your house for fuck's sake."

"And I'm choosing to share it with my guests."

Dean groaned and leaned back against the door frame, "Well, now I just feel like a complete douche,"

"Please, Dean," Cas said, almost pleadingly, "That was far from my intention,"

Dean glanced sideways into the room, "Well…"

Fuck it. It was totally normal, the only thing that would make it weird was if he felt weird and he didn't because it wasn't so: fuck it.

"There's room- I mean you could share, if that's not…"

_Weird. Really, really, weird._

"Oh," Cas said, eyes getting a few sizes too large and mouth doing that stupidly agonizing just-parted thing it did sometimes.

"Oh?" Dean pressed.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to--"

"Well, if you don't want to."

"No!" Cas said suddenly, "I mean - yes, I mean, if it doesn't bother you."

"Why would it bother me?" Dean shrugged all the while telling his thudding heartbeat to seriously _please_ just shut the fuck up.

"Alright," Cas said.

Dean wasn't sure if he looked more terrified or contented but decided he really wasn't going to think about that and turned into the room. Cas followed and shut the door behind them as he flicked the switch on the side of the wall and the bedside light came on calmly, filling the room with a gentle yellow glow.

Dean toed out of his socks before he could think too much about it. He'd normally tug his shirt off along with them but he stopped himself half way, sort of glancing over at Cas to see if he was going to strip down at all - but Cas was already sitting on the edge of the bed kicking off his jeans and pulling back the sheets.

And _jesus_ this really should not be making him feel like it was, and why the fuck were his hands almost shaky as he jerked his belt off and slid out of his own jeans.

He let himself glance over once more and saw Cas climbing in t-shirt still very much on, so Dean followed suit and almost stumbled over to the bed that he could have sworn was about twice the size when he saw it from the door.

He pulled back the covers before he could consider for even a second longer, scooting under and flicking off the light.

He waited for the thick heavy uncomfortable feeling to plummet into his stomach but weirdly enough, it just didn't. Instead there was a calm slinking up over him and his eyes were already getting heavy against the darkness. He could feel Cas' weight pushing his side down, feel more than hear his quiet breathing.

"Thank you," A deep voice said in the dark after a moment or two.

"For what?" Dean mumbled, turning lazily towards him.

Even in the dark he could still see the light of Cas' eyes.

"For asking for a job."

Dean smiled, "Yeah," and then he was letting his hand fall, just a bit, the back of his knuckles resting against Cas' shoulder, "Well, thanks for giving me one."

He felt Cas' shoulder rise and fall steadily with each silent breath and before he could think to move his hand, he was asleep.

\----

Sam settled deeper into the couch listening as the house settled in around itself and the sound of footsteps up above them eventually stopped. He let himself sigh contentedly and stretched his long legs closer to the warmth of the fire.

Nick let out a little chuckle on his end of the couch.

"What?" Sam asked hazily.

"You," Nick smiled against the scotch he'd poured himself about an hour ago.

"What about me?" Sam smiled back.

"You're happy."

Sam laughed as he let his head lean back, still tall enough to be left staring at the timber framed ceiling, "Yeah, I guess I am."

He swiveled his head a bit to look at Nick, "And that's funny? I thought seeing me miserable was usually more entertaining for you."

Nick looked back at him, his mouth pulled up in the usual smirk, but there was something else too, something lighter in his eyes, warmer,

"Happy's nice." He said finally, "I like it."

Sam snorted, "'Happy's nice'… very eloquent."

"I'm sorry, were you expecting something different?"

Sam grinned stupidly up at the ceiling, "I've been expecting something different for the last five years, I think at least I've gotten to a point now where I'm prepared for--"

"--Disappointment," Nick picked up

Sam lifted his head upright again. Nick was staring down into the auburn of his scotch, swirling it back and forth, he was still smiling but the lightness in his eyes had slipped away.

"I didn't say that," Sam said.

"Didn't you? You were expecting something different… from me, from many things. If you are left to your own devices you shall, and inevitable, I'm sure: did, imagine an ideal. Then anything which arrises following said imagining that can be categorized as 'unexpected', it must be less than that ideal, and therefor: a disappointment."

Sam shook his head, "See, you say things like that and I start wondering how I ever could have imagined you'd be any different."

Nick looked at him, "But you did. You thought I'd be something other than I am."

Sam sighed and sunk deeper into the couch, turning to lean against the arm more and face him better, "I don't know, I hardly even remember any more what I thought. I… well I guess I just read your cases so often, your words, they became their own thing, took on their own lives. I knew they belonged to someone they just felt, well, they felt like they where their own, they felt--"

"Biblical?" Nick joked.

Sam gave him a face.

"You must have things like that," Sam continued, "I mean, what about Sartre? Or Nietzsche? Or whoever - you have a mental image to work with sure, but wouldn't it be rather weird to sit down and hear them speak and connect the words with the person in front of you."

Nick shrugged, "I really can't say."

"Fine," Sam sighed, "Then don't."

The fire cracked once in the fireplace, part of the well burned log falling off into a bed of glowing orange and pale grey.

"Are you?" Nick asked.

"Am I what?"

"Disappointed?"

Sam stared at the fire, listening to the gentle sounds of the house, the timbers settling against the cold outside, the scotch gently hitting the sides of Nick's glass.

"No," He said finally, "No, I'm not… not at all."

"This is what you wanted?" Nick asked, shifting himself now, turning to face him more, "Representing corn syrup companies, stealing clients out of divorce settlements--"

"I did not steal any clients." Sam protested.

"Quibbles," Nick shrugged.

Sam smiled, "Could you say that again?"

"Why?"

"I think I want that to be my new text alert from you."

Nick laughed in the way he always did, which was really more a sort of breath escaping low and quick and steady.

"Really, Sam," He said, leaning own head back, just short enough that he could actually get his cheek on the cushions, "What did you expect? What did you want - in school, before, at all… why'd you decide to do this?"

The answer came before he could catch it, "Because my dad told me I wouldn't," And apparently his mouth just wanted to keep going, "What about you?"

Nick looked at him steadily, "Because mine told me I couldn't."

Sam inched closer, "No, no, hold on- I thought he was the one who told you to get into the firm,"

"No," Nick shook his head, "He told us all that the firm was the family and that the law was the only true profession. But he never thought it was right for me. He said it didn't suit me. He said I was too… misguided."

Sam chuckled.

Nick stared, "What?"

"Just the idea of you being 'guided' at all, mis or not." Sam said,

Nick smiled back, "I suppose…" He leaned towards him, "But really… what did you expect?"

"I don't even know what that means--"

"It means the first day you walked into law school, all bright eyed and side-burn sculpted, what did you see yourself doing the day you graduated?"

Sam stretched his back against the couch, "I don't know… doing something useful, helping people, charity work maybe, getting married..."

And shit… that had slipped out before he could catch it. What the hell was wrong with him today--

"Married?"

Sam sighed, too late now, "Yeah."

"In general?"

"Not in general like to anyone… to someone."

"Girlfriend?"

Sam nodded.

He could almost feel Nick start to smile smugly, "Nice girl?"

Sam gave him his best "oh please" face; "Yes, okay, a very nice girl."

Sam could tell he had about a dozen sarcastic comments waiting in the wings and was actually impressed that he managed to keep a lid in every one of them.

"What was her name?" Nick asked

Sam gazed off into the embers of the fireplaces, "Jess. We were together most of college. I was going to ask her to marry me."

"Something happened?" Nick asked.

Sam knew part of his brain was screaming at him to stop talking and why would he care and why would Sam even be considering talking about any of this, but the sound was muffled, like the voices of everyone in the room had been, and he kept going with hardly a thought.

"Someone happened."

"Ah."

"Ruby," Sam said, "She was in my first class at law school. She followed me home."

"Well, that's not at all creepy," Nick smiled as he took another sip.

"You're one to talk," Sam said.

Nick laughed against his glass, "Fair enough,"

"I don't know why anything happened, or how really…" Sam said, "I know this might be surprising but I can be a pretty clinical dumbass sometimes."

Nick gave him a look of mock-surprise.

"Shut up," Sam smiled.

"So, what happened?" Nick asked, "Did she just pull the stranded puppy routine and you fell to piece because if so--"

"No," Sam snapped reproachfully, "Jesus, give me at least some credit."

He put a socked foot up on the couch and rested his arm over it.

"At first I told myself that there something addicting about her, it was like I couldn't stop even if I wanted to… but that's really not true. I had just spent so long doing the responsibly thing. Dean and I grew up a lot faster than we really should have and I'd been doing exactly what I should for so long I guess I just--"

"--Wanted to do something you shouldn't."

Sam looked at him, "Is that crazy?"

"Sam you really don't want me defining sanity for you."

"Yeah, guess not," Sam laughed.

"But I don't think that's it, is it?" Nick asked.

"What do you mean?"

"If you wanted to make poor choices there's infinite opportunity. What was it? About this girl I mean?"

Sam shrugged, "She was gorgeous,"

"No, that's not it."

Sam rolled his head on the couch and met his eyes. Nick looked back calmly.

Sam swallowed, "She scared me." He said finally.

Nick held his look, eyes calm but so bright, as if he was actually fascinated by what Sam was saying, as if this was all was the most interesting thing he had ever heard, as if Sam was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen...

"Not… it wasn't," Sam continued, searching, "I guess with Jess I saw everything. I saw our house and our children and our retirement party and part of me wanted that, really wanted it, but with Ruby… there was this freedom there, this freedom that I could do whatever I wanted, even if it wasn't perfect, even if it was really pretty stupid and maybe a bit wrong and maybe something I might hate myself for in the morning. But I guess there's part of me that really needed that. She was raw. She didn't hide anything and I didn't have to either, and her eyes… she would get this edge to her eyes that made me feel like I could cut myself and never stop bleeding."

Sam ran his hand down his leg, easing out the heat of the fire. Nick waited, patiently, quietly.

"I liked that. I like it a lot, but then one day I realized, if that ever happened, if I ever cut myself on her she wouldn't care. She wouldn't try to patch me up she would leave me there, bleeding, until there was nothing left at all. And I missed things about Jess… I knew I ruined that and there was no going back and I wasn't sorry about that, not really. But I missed things. I missed the way she would look at me in the morning when woke her up with coffee, and how badly she wanted to meet Bobby and Dean, and how sometimes at night I'd wake up shaking and she would just rub my back until I fell asleep again…"

He wasn't looking at Nick any longer but he could feel his attention locked to him all the same, and intense as it was it was calming too, just like the arm Nick had draped over the back of the couch, hand close enough that if he really wanted to he just had to lean a bit to feel fingertips against his hair.

"So, I don't have Jess because she wasn't Ruby and I don't have Ruby because she wasn't Jess," Sam sighed, "And apparently I can't have someone who makes me feel like I'm standing on the edge of existence and at the same time will make sure to hell I won't fall off. So I guess that's that, in case you doubted how much of an idiot I really am."

"You're not an idiot Sam," Nick said quietly, seriously. Sam thought he felt his fingers stretch a bit on the back of the couch but they didn't touch him so he couldn't be certain.

"Well, what about you?" Sam said, trying to ignore the way Nick's voice seemed a little rougher than usual.

"What about me?" Nick asked.

The question fell out before Sam even realized he'd asked it.

"Have you even been in love?"

Nick smiled slightly, "I've always had a rather hard time finding faith in humanity."

"That doesn't really answer the question," Sam pressed.

Nick said nothing for some time. Sam turned towards him again, watching as his attention returned to the fire and he sipped the last of his scotch.

"I don't know." He said finally.

Sam laughed, "Oh come on, seriously."

"No," Nick said, turning suddenly and looking at him full and Sam couldn't help looking back- there was something about the color his eyes turned against the light of the fire…

"I meant," Nick said, "I knew. And the answer was no. But now… I don't know."

It was a long time before Sam managed to look away. It was even longer before he managed to break the silence.

"I like it here," He said gently.

"We don't have to leave," Nick said, just enough of that dark humor in his voice to make Sam laugh.

"Don't you like our walking familial disaster of a law firm?" Nick asked, leaning back into the couch.

"What? With the threats, and bathroom sneak attacks, and vicious sexual harassment? How could I not?"

Nick leaned towards him, "Really, Sam. Do you like it?"

Sam looked back at him slyly, "When did you stop with the nicknames?"

Nick squinted, "It's late, I'm tired. No use spending energy on an extra syllable."

Sam smiled.

"Really." Nick pressed again after a moment.

"I like you," Sam said. His eyes were heavier suddenly, when had he gotten so tired? "I like working with you. And I like Cas, and even Gabe when he's not being too much of an idiot."

Sam rolled over just enough to sink into the cushions.

"I like that you make fun of my hair, and I like that you don't really mean it." He muttered.

Were his eyes closed? He didn't know if he cared enough to tell. It was warm, and soft, and there was a hand sweeping the edges of his hair out of his face.

"I like you too." A voice said somewhere.

Sam made a small humming sound, contented, tired, and warm, so warm.

He felt his body shifting on it's own, leaning, falling against something even warmer, softer and harder all at once.

"Sam?" A voice asked, he heard it, but felt it too, against his cheek which was strange, but he was too close to sleep to care.

"Mm?"

"Who's Bobby?" The voice asked.

"Family," Sam mumbled and then there was nothing but the warm and dark, the feeling of a steady breath beneath his head and a hand on his back, easing the muscles in his shoulders as he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean slept hard and woke slowly.

It had been a damn long time since he’d slept without the sound of the street clattering around outside or the knowledge that John was still lingering in the garage - likely five beers down and four more to go.

It was nice- sleeping with just the sounds of the wind and the snow and space, it was that, just that, not (definitely not) the feeling of steady breath behind him, or the way the mattress created a warm valley just close enough to know it was there.

He hadn’t opened his eyes yet and wasn’t planning on it. There was sun on his face and he was so warm and he was still too damn tired and contented to really do much besides let out a little groan, stretch his legs out just enough so they dipped off the edge of the bed, one falling out of the blankets for a minute only to be instantly sucked back into the warmth with another little sound.

“Mph--”

Was that his voice? No – he wasn’t even sure if it was a voice, more of a grumble really.

“Dean--”

Okay that definitely wasn’t him.

“Cold--”

Oh.

“Sorry-” He mumbled, but it was really more of a: “Srmph--”

He managed to make his legs kick the blankets vaguely towards the other side of the bed, but they caught something warm and solid and for some reason his leg maybe didn’t move away. He felt the mattress shifting – another sound, closer, warm. The leg slipped further under his and wrapped just a bit and he felt a shoulder against his own.

He let his eyes open then, just enough. At first there was only white and bright – pouring in through the windows off the snow in the field. He rolled his head back onto the pillow and glanced towards the source of warmth and a steady sound of quiet breath.

Cas was lying on his back, face leaned just a few inches towards the middle of the bed – enough so Dean could see both his eyes heavy under his dark brows and eyelashes while still getting the profile of his nose, where it pointed at the end.

It didn’t count as staring – he wasn’t even awake yet so no, didn’t count, totally not.

Dean’d assumed he would be up already. He didn’t really think Cas slept at all most days, or if he did he was up at the crack of dawn grinding coffee and baking whatever it was they needed for the day. But he was sleeping now, by the look of it just as entrenched as Dean had been half a minute ago. He breathed steadily – grey t-shirt rising up with each one. He grumbled a bit and turned a little more towards him, lips falling open quietly.

Dean suddenly wished he would open his eyes – the room was so bright and he could almost see how his pupils would shrink and how the blue would light up against the white yellow light filling the room. But he didn’t wake up, simply sunk a little deeper into the bed, leg tightening just enough against Dean’s and he knew he would have to get up soon, but maybe not just yet.

\-------------

It smelled like summer. Sam stood in a field. The gold of the tall grass shifted all around in the warm breeze that caught up under his coat and in his hair.

A hand snatched at the edge of his coat and pulled hard and he was tumbling down on top of her before he could stop himself. She was laughing but her voice made no sound, hands sliding up under his jacket as easily as they always had, digging in hard and unrelenting, eyes bright against the dark of her hair and the sloping of her lips, teeth so white against the red of her mouth. She pulled him down and her tongue was hot and quick and he felt himself melt downward, pressing tight against the curves of her body.

The heat slid up him as it always did, pooling at first and then igniting something tight in his chest that slid down his arms and up his throat, making him hold just too tight, kiss just too hard.

  
She was laughing again he knew but he still couldn’t hear her, just saw her mouth open, teeth sharp, stare hungry.

She grabbed his shoulders and rolled him but his back didn’t hit the ground, just air. His stomach tightened in instant vicious fear and he yelled out, scrambling to grab hold of something. She caught his wrists and smiled at him. He stared over his shoulder to see what he would fall into, but there was nothing but black and dark, all she had to do was let him go. And she did.

Her hands let go of his wrists in one quick motion. Sam heard his breath catch, felt his weight slip, and then a hand snatched his. He looked up, but it was so dark suddenly – the sky had gone grey and wild and there was wind wiping his hair in front of his face, but the hand was warm and he could see blonde hair and a smile. Fingers laced around the back of his neck and pulled him close, touch gentle and warm as it had always been.

“Jess?”

But no that wasn't right - the hands were stronger. Far too strong.

Lips hit his, open and rough, tasting of snow and full of something Sam didn’t recognize, something that lit up his chest and pooled in his stomach tight and had him grabbing hard to a strong shoulder, to short hair, tilting, pulling deeper.

The mouth let him go and he remembered the dark, he could feel it gaping under him, waiting, starved—

“Pull me up,” Sam gasped, “Please--”

The voice smiled against his cheek, “No,”

And the thrill of it sang around his limbs even as he swallowed in fear.

The voice came again, open now, lips brushed against his own, “But I promise, Sam, I will never let you fall,”

Sam could taste the breath – it was cold even though the hold was warm and he chased it, pushing up again, open and desperate, terrified and safe all at once because the hands that held him were so strong he knew it wasn't a lie, the voice so sincere despite that taunting edge.

And then Sam was smiling even if he didn’t know why and the mouth against his must have felt it for it smiled back, and this time he heard the laughter, low and breathy and frozen, stubble against his cheek, solid strength under his hands.

“What’s so funny?” Sam breathed into short hair that smelled of old books and just lit fires.

The face pulled back and there was nothing but blue eyes sharp enough to split him in half, smiling right back; “You.”

A hand caught his hair and tugged it back hard. He felt cold lips open against his bared neck and had just enough breath left to groan—

“I know I make a fine smelling cup of joe there kiddo but that might be just a tad enthusiastic.”

Sam’s eyes were open in less than a second, and he was sitting up even faster.

“Shame on you,” Crowley’s voice tutted from the kitchen, “You’ll have spoiled the ending.”

Sam ran a hand across his face and tried to remember how to be awake. He was on the couch – still. The fire was going – still. He hadn’t really remembered falling asleep. It had been warm, and there had been something soft. He glanced down at the pillow he’d apparently been lying on and the blanket he’d knocked on the floor. He hadn’t remembered getting a blanket…

“Breakfast?” A voice asked from the kitchen.

Sam turned in that direction. Gabe was sitting in one of the stools, wearing what couldn’t possibly be power ranger pajama pants, sipping coffee with one knee curled up under him, and watching Sam with an amused expression.

Crowley was actually dressed and apparently making something unbelievable at the stove. He gave Sam a look.

“What? Oh- yeah, um please…thanks.” Sam managed.

Crowley cracked two more eggs against the stove top, huffing, “At least someone’s polite.”

Gabriel leaned over the counter, “Hey, it’s not my fault – you make a frittata like that you can’t expect me to not demand it every morning. Plus, you make plenty of demands,”

“Yes,” Crowley smiled, “But I often say ‘please’,”

And now Gabriel was grinning right back, “Damn right—“

“Okay, seriously, I’ve been awake half a minute, can you just you know, not?” Sam grumbled, going to stand up and then promptly deciding it was probably a good idea to stay sitting at least a little but longer…

Gabe was grinning at him like he knew exactly what was going on and the worst part was he probably did. Why the hell had he ended up sleeping in the living room?

“Oh, come on there Sam, you seemed like you were about ready to do some begging of your own just now--"

Sam shot him a dangerous look.

“Leave the poor thing alone,” Crowley said as he adjusted the stove, “If it blushes any harder it will stick.”

“Aw, but I like it in pink!”

“Shut up,” Sam growled, finally standing. He glanced around quickly, “Where is everyone?”

“Your fearless leader’s using up all the hot water,” Gabe pouted.

“I thought he liked to take showers at night…”

Crowley stopped stirring the eggs just as Sam realized what the hell he’d actually said. And now Gabe was staring at him like he’d found a unicorn—

“What smells like morning after with Chiquita banana?” Dean grumbled as he thankfully stumbled into the kitchen.

“Hey – don’t call my boyfriend fruit.”

“I actually look quite fetching in a samba sleeves,” Crowley said as he added some peppers to the eggs.

“Where’s the prettiest barista?” Gabe asked.

“Sleeping,” Dean said and then caught himself, “I mean I guess, he’s not down here is he?”

Crowley was already chuckling, as if he was listening to some sitcom rather than standing in the same room as them all.

“Sammy what the fuck?” Dean asked giving him a good look, “Did you sleep down here?”

“Uhh- yeah, I guess so. Why where was I supposed to sleep?”

“Fuck if I know…” Dean grumbled as he looked away, “Hey Poppins– can I get some of that?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Abra-fucking-kadabra?”

“Oh, it’s sassy in the morning I see.” Gabe grinned.

“It’s because you didn’t call him the prettiest.” Nick said.

Sam turned a little too fast. Nick was walking around the corner of the doorway, running the towel around his shoulders roughly through his damp hair. Sam looked away a little too fast.

“If there’s no hot water left I swear--” Dean snapped.

“Pull your panties out of your ass,” Gabriel groaned, “It’s Vermont not Croatia.”

“Breakfast,” Crowley announced, sliding the pan off the stove, “If you’d all like to just shove your grubby little hands in I’ll understand that it's only fitting with the tone of the morning,”

Dean practically knocked Sam over on his way to get behind the kitchen counter and Gabriel wasn’t far behind him.

Sam moved to follow them when a hand pressed against his chest. He stopped dead, looking down to see the hand and then the arm and then the face looking back at him.

“Come with me.”

Sam wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. He doubted it.

“What? Where?”

“Walk,” Nick said, jerking his head a bit towards the door. Sam was expecting the way his mouth pulled up at the corner and his eyes smirked, but no – nothing. He just looked at him, stare almost questioning.

Sam cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

Nick stared back, “Now.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Ladies, get it while it’s hot,” Gabriel called at them.

“’S good, Sammy,” Dean said through a mouthful.

Nick was still staring up at him.

“Oh, uh – I was going to go for a walk.” Sam called back.

“You do realize it’s freezing?” Crowley sniffed.

“It’s refreshing,” Nick said, already walking towards the coats.

“Save me some?” Sam asked.

“No promises,” Dean answered.

\----

It was freezing and by the time they got to the end of the driveway Sam was regretting not at least cramming down a few mouthfuls of warm breakfast first.

He drove his hands deep into his pockets. The sky was completely clear – that brilliant deep blue it tended to be on freezing days. His breath was catching on the air in front of him. He glanced over at Nick who seemed perfectly content with the temperature, even though his hair was still a bit wet, well, at this point, likely a bit frozen.

“You should have worn a hat.” Sam said.

He looked back at him and in that light his eyes were almost the same color as the sky. Sam looked away.

“It’s just stupid.” Sam huffed, feet crunching in the snow, “You must be freezing.”

Nick said nothing. He was staring straight ahead. It was weird… Sam had always thought that conceited little smile he always seemed to have was annoying as hell, but now that it was gone that was somehow worse.

And he wasn’t talking… which was awkward. Well, when he talked normally it was awkward but in a different way, and this was worse.

“So, umm—“

Nick stopped and faced him, “I want to keep you Sam.”

Okay… maybe he had been a bit quick on that assessment – talking could easily be worse…

“I want to give you everything you want." Nick said, "And I want to keep you.”

Sam stared down at him, frozen hair and blue eyes and stubble and all. He waited for the smug grin. It didn’t come.

“I, uh, I don’t really know what that means?” Sam tried. Because he honestly didn’t and it had been three months and a lot of pink sticky notes and smug smiles and he may or may not have fallen asleep against his shoulder last night, and held his hand sometimes when it just seemed like the thing to do, but still…

“It means,” Nick said, and it looked like he wanted to step closer but didn’t, “That I think you're interesting, and I don’t want to stop watching.”

“Okay… but to be fair, don’t really know what that means either and not totally the same thing- ‘keep me’ is sort of, well…I mean I know creepy is probably getting a bit old by now but--"

“I didn’t come back to the firm to work there Sam.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “Why else would you…?”

“I came back," Nick said, "To steal as many of my brother's clients as I possibly could before giving them enough due cause to fire me, therefor destroying my partnership agreement and the noncompete clause included.”

Sam stared, “…Excuse me?”

“I’ve been securing clients from the firm for the past three months, it’s worked to my advantage to have Michael perceive me as unbalanced and unstable, he will not assume that I am mentally capable of unravelling them from the ground up, and the more deranged he perceives me to be the quicker he will tear up the partnership agreement when the time comes.”

“And what exactly is going to give him the cause he needs when the time comes?”

Nick shrugged, “Jury's still out… the kneecaps were a thought but that’s more than enough to add an assault charge, so now I am favoring a swift upper cut to the jaw – preferably with you in the room since he has now linked my attachment to you as an outlet for my ‘psychosis’.”

Sam almost laughed in disbelief, “Is it?”

Nick’s eyes hardened.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Sam said, stepping back and gazing around for something that would tie this all together, “Just, so what? You’ve been acting like this all these months so you can get fired?!”

Nick shrugged again, “That and it’s fun.”

“Okay no,” Sam snapped, “All that: the teasing, the freaking harassment, that was closed doors, there’s no way all of that was for his benefit!”

“Well,” Nick said gazing back at him with some of that amusement in his eyes again, “I will admit most of that was just for me. But you’re really just too much fun to pass up Sammy.”

“And that’s why you want to ‘keep me’? Because I’m ‘fun’?! Well sorry if I don’t jump right on the masochism train.”

“No it's not that," Nick stepped closer, “Yes: you're fun to push and prod, but above all you’re interesting. I knew it right away but I didn’t really know why and now I believe I am starting to.”

“Is that right? And what makes me so damn interesting?”

Nick was staring at him in a rather unhinged way that made Sam want to look away but he just couldn’t seem to get there.

“You’re a bright point in a dark place, Sam.” Nick said, “I’ve seen a lot of lawyers (myself well included), and worse than that I’ve seen a lot of _people_ but you… you actually believe in them. You think that not only should they make their own choices but that they could one day make the right ones.”

“And of course that makes me naïve enough to be amusing for you?” Sam spat.

Nick frowned and shook his head, “No… it makes you a light in the dark. I’ve never quite had a light in the dark before. I’ve had sparks of hope, trust, faith, something along those lines, but in the end it’s just sparks and when they fade they only make the black all the darker, but I look at you, and for some reason I know you won’t go out.”

He smiled, just a fraction but his eyes brightened and Sam felt his chest give a tight squeeze.

“And, well, that’s interesting…" Nick shrugged, "So I want to keep you, because I suppose, perhaps I’ve just always told myself there is only the dark because I feel it’s all that will have me.”

He ears were red in the cold and suddenly Sam’s hands felt heavy in his pockets with an urge to hold the sides of his face until they were warm again.

“And then there’s you,” Nick said, “And now here I am.”

Sam opened his mouth but it wasn’t really working right so he cleared his throat, “And what are you going to do? After I mean...”

“I’m fully prepared for my own firm.”

“Your own firm?”

“I thought we were over the repeating phase,” Nick smiled up at him.

Sam suddenly laughed, “Oh my god… that’s what you told him. Crowley – that’s why he didn’t rip my throat out and is making frittata… you offered him a job, a cut.”

“Well, he is a very capable attorney – and you haven’t even seen him in criminal. It’s really quite impressive--"

“So what? He gets a nice comfy office at ‘Lucius and Crowley: morally ambiguous attorneys at law’?”

“I was hoping for Lucius and Winchester actually,” Nick said, “I told him that particular matter was undebatable.”

Sam stared.

And then stared some more.

“What did you say?”

“You heard what I said… although I think you could remove the ‘morally ambiguous’ subtitle given that circumstance, not that there isn’t a ring to it.”

“Did you just…” Sam swallowed and then blinked hard and when he opened his eyes again he was laughing.

“Alright so I get it, it’s all very good – I mean fine, jokes on me because I’m ‘fun’ and I know you think I’m naïve--"

“I really don’t.” Nick said, face hard.

“No really – it’s good, I’m sure Dean will get a good laugh about it in the car, but really--"

“It’s not a joke Sam,” Nick said, and he actually almost looked hurt, a bit, under the eye contact that was so hard and unflinching it was almost scary.

Sam shook his head, still unable to take away the stupid smile that he knew was making a pretty flimsy shield at the moment, “Okay so what? You want to give me a job? You want a partnership? That’s insane—“

“No, it’s not,” Nick said, “I have a signed doctor’s note that proves I can make rational choices.”

Sam laughed then, but caught it as best he could, “So, that’s what all this is? You’re offering me this? You want us to have a partnership?”

“I do.”

Sam made himself look at him again, and when he spoke his voice was quieter then he’d known it would be, “What does that mean?”

Nick stared back at him, and suddenly Sam didn’t know what he saw in his face, whether it was the look of someone holding back a teasing smile, or someone trying as hard as they could not to be afraid because they either didn’t know how or knew all too well.

“It means whatever you wish it to mean.”

Sam tilted his head back, cheeks long since red and raw from the cold, breath catching up against the blue of the sky like fleeting clouds.

“And what makes you think this is even close to what I want?”

“I think I understand more about you than you think I do.”

Anger flashed quickly against Sam's chest, “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

Sam snapped his attention back, voice stronger now, louder, “And just what is it that you understand?”

Nick’s eyes were cold, sincere, open, “I know that you’re afraid that if one day he told you: ‘I’m sorry, I love you, and I am proud of you’, that you would forgive him without a thought.”

Sam felt as if the cold had been sucked under his skin in one split second, but Nick didn’t look away.

  
“I know that… I know because I’m afraid of the same thing, Sam.”

Sam shook his head hard, trying to get the sudden tightness out of his throat, trying to breathe the scrambling feeling from his chest and the sickness out of his gut.

“What do you want?” He asked, almost begged really.

Nick stared back at him, blue eyes bright against the snow, “I want you to say yes.”

“Why?” Sam said, staring down at his shadow against the white, “Why?”

He felt his smile even if he couldn’t see it, “Because I like you Sam… I like that you make fun of my cynicism, and I like that you don’t really mean it… and I like how around you, sometimes, neither do I.”

\---------

He wouldn’t admit it, but Dean was already, half heartedly, crossing his fingers for a blizzard, even if the day didn’t seem like it was going to cooperate in the slightest.  
   
I was just… nice there. It was nice to be out of the city. I was nice to be sitting in front of a fire watching as Cas sleepily made his way through a breakfast that really counted more as late lunch by now. It was nice to know that they’d have one more night of whatever this was, and it wasn’t so nice that he wanted that as much as he did, but he wasn’t thinking about that, he was thinking about the fireplace and how the couch sunk in just the right amount and how Cas frowned when he couldn’t get the frittata to stay on his fork.

“Just stab it, Cas,” Dean laughed from the couch as an especially large piece fell off.

“The flaky texture does not respond well to pressure.”

“Then scoop it.”

“The plate does not provide adequate leverage…”

“So use your hand. God knows I’m not gonna judge.”

Cas frowned at his plate for a moment and then neatly picked up the offending piece and popped it in his mouth as Dean chuckled.

“Remind me - where are the others?” Cas asked. Dean wasn’t surprised. He’d still been half asleep when he made it downstairs and he was only now getting through his first cup of coffee.

“Well, I think Gabe and his chimney sweep went down to the village and your creepy brother and Sam went for a walk.”

“It seems that Sam is returning.” Castiel said, looking out the kitchen window towards the driveway.

“Oh yeah?”

“He seems troubled.”

The door opened hard and Sam was already halfway across the floor.

“Hey- Sammy,” Dean called, but Sam was shedding his coat like it was attacking him and didn’t seem to hear him.

It was off and in a pile with his boots and he was through the doorway towards the back of the house in less than a minute.

“What the hell?” Dean snapped, “What did your crazy brother do now?”

“Perhaps you should inquire.” Cas said, scooping up some more egg.

“What seriously?” Dean laughed.

“I don’t understand why that’s amusing.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, “What? Go after him, pet his hair and ask him what’s wrong? I don’t really go in for that chick-flick stuff, Cas. It’s his problems and if he wants help he’ll ask.”

“I see nothing innately feminine about an offering of aid. Nor do I see why someone must ask in order to receive support… that seems to rather defeat the purpose of it being offered.”

“So what? I should just butt in there and see what his deal is?”

“He seems upset. Often times discussion eases a burden. That’s all I meant to say.”

“Look, Cas, if he wanted to talk he’d say something.”

Castiel turned to him, “If you wished for emotional aid would you state it so plainly.”

Dean had to stop at that.

He shifted on the couch and stared tight into the fire a moment longer.

“Alright, fine, jesus—“ And with that he was standing and heading after Sam towards the back of the house.

He found him in what seemed like an office, library, something, pacing back and forth in front of a door that led out towards the fields.

Dean cleared his throat.

Sam glanced up at him, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“You, uh,” Dean tried, running a hand over the back of his neck, “Is… everything cool?”

Sam stared, “…’Is everything cool?’”

Dean crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, “You just seemed upset okay, I just…”

“You’re checking on me?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to – I can go,” He said, half turning to prove it.

“Hey! No, I, sorry, it’s just… yeah, well I guess, no, stuff isn’t totally cool.”

Dean stepped further into the room, “Okay… so what’s up?”

Sam shook his head, “I don’t know, I don’t really know what the fuck is going on…”

“Did that creeper try something on you Sammy, because if so I swear to god, I’ll go find him right now--"

“No! Dean, jesus,” Sam muttered, running a rough hand through his hair, “He offered me a job…”

“Sorry but… didn’t he already give you one?”

“Not this job, a different job, a pretty big one.”

“Big as in…?”

“Big as in completely terrifying and insane and I have no idea what the hell I am suppose to do!”

“Okay, okay, just slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

So Sam did.

“Holy shit.” Dean said.

“Yeah I know,” Sam said.

“Holy shit.”

“I know Dean!”

“Okay, sorry, but really… Dude.”

“I know! Jesus...”

“So he just offered you half of some giant ass law firm that he’s going to make by stealing clients from another giant ass law firm?”

“Pretty much.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

Dean frowned, “What, really?”

“Yeah, look I know you don’t like him but—“

“No, I mean, why didn't you just say yes?”

Sam pulled his head out of his hands to stare at him, “What?”

“Well, yeah okay, I don’t like him, but isn’t this pretty much, I don’t know… exactly what your little girl's social justice heart has always wanted?”

“Dean,” Sam snapped, “Could you not be an insensitive dick for half a second?”

“Sorry!” Dean yelled, “I just, wasn’t this guy your idol at school?”

“Don’t put it like that.”

“Okay, well however the hell I put it – if someone asked you in school what your complete dream would be your first year out, wouldn’t this pretty much be it…?”

Sam turned away, “I can’t believe you – one minute your acting like a protective asshole saying he looks and me like a serial killer and next your saying you want me to take a job that could mean working with him for the rest of my life!”

“Hey-“ Dean insisted, “I’m not saying I want that, I’m saying I thought this was what you wanted!”

“Yeah, well maybe it’s not at all what I expected… I don’t know, I mean yeah, I guess this is what I wanted back then, but there’s a lot that’s more… complicated.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said because even if complicated was a loaded concept it really wasn’t one he felt like touching with a ten foot pole, “So what’s the alternative? He’s going to leave – would you stay if you didn’t go? Wouldn’t those assholes cut you a new one without him there?”

“Yeah, I really don’t like the idea of a buffer free Zachariah…”

“And you pretty much told that Michael guy to shove it already didn’t you.”

Sam groaned and rubbed the balls of his hands against his eyes, “Yeah, pretty much,”

“Okay so…?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed, standing up to look out the glass doors towards the fields, “Go someplace else, California maybe?”

Dean felt his stomach tighten in one hard sweep, “You’d do that?”

“Well, maybe,” Sam shrugged, apparently not noticing his sudden mood change, “I mean I’m still in touch with a lot of people out there, I’m sure I could find something, especially after this, as long as I get out before the witch hunt starts.”

“So… you’d just go?”

Sam looked at him now, “Not like that, you could come too.”

And Dean wanted to laugh but the tightness in his stomach was now burning up into something dangerously close to anger, “Oh yeah? Just like that? Like I don’t have any reason to stay?”

Sam stared, caught off guard by the way his tone had shifted, “I didn’t say that Dean I just, well you did just come here a few months ago and you came to live with me so I assumed--"

“Yeah, well you did assume okay – maybe I like it here. I like my job and I thought you liked yours so whatever,”

“I do like mine!” Sam snapped back, “I just… it’s just complicated, Dean! I don't know what to do-”

“So what? You’re going to just run off to California _again_?”

Sam shut up pretty quick after that, staring at him with that stupid hurt face that threatened to snap into fury at any second. But Dean was mad too now and dammit if he just couldn’t stop.

“You know Sam I get it okay – I’m glad you went to school even if you think that I’m not because you had something you wanted and you went after it, but this – this is exactly what you wanted and if you run away from that then… I mean jesus, you can really be a fucking idiot sometimes you know.”

Sam stared at him, “Yeah, well you can be a pretty massive hypocrite.”

Dean glared at him, “And what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you didn’t even want to be here! You don’t like Nick- couldn’t shut up over it, and about how many assholes there were in the firm, about the attitude and all of it, and what? Now you’re snapping at me because I mention that maybe _maybe_ we could find something else? What the fuck are you holding onto so damn hard Dean?”

Dean held his eyes for a minute longer.

“I’m done.” He turned away, “I’m fucking done, and I’m sorry I tired. Do whatever the fuck you want-”

He was out of the door before Sam could manage to say anything.

He turned around the doorway and towards the coats, shoving his boots on with his back to the kitchen, not wanted to look, not wanting to know.

“Dean?” The deep voice asked anyways, “Is everything alright?”

He didn’t look at him. He wasn’t going to look at him.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” He growled, snatching at the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the cold.

It was so sharp it took his breath out for a second but it felt so damn good he charged ahead into it, walking quick and hard away from the house, glancing up quickly to notice that the sun was a hell of a lot lower in the sky than he’d originally thought, but that didn’t matter, none of it mattered, it didn’t matter that he wanted to stay, he just did, and he wasn’t going to think about why, he was going to walk and breath the fire out of his lungs before he forgot how.

\------

Sam made it out of the study just as the sky turned undeniably dark, a decision that had a lot to do with whatever smelled delicious in the kitchen and nothing, absolutely nothing to do with worrying about anyone in particular.

“Ah, she emerges,” Crowley called from the kitchen as Sam made his way back into the living room.

"Did he chain you to that stove or…?” Sam asked, eyeing him as he slicing up something or other with rather freaky efficiency.

“Ungrateful much?” Gabe shot back as he pulled the top off of his beer.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered, “It is pretty cool you’ve been cooking for us, it’s just… weird day.”

“Nicky asked you to join us on the Enterprise, huh?” Gabe said.

“What?” Sam said spinning, “You know?”

Crowley tutted at the counter as Gabe gave Sam a look he might give kittens trying to stand on their own for the first time.

“Are you… in on it?” Sam asked, really not even sure how to phrase anything about this.

“Oh, come on Sam, I know Michael _seems_ like a bundle of fun but he’s more like a piñata someone forgot to put candy in,” Gabe said.

Sam sighed and sat down at the counter, “Yeah, I don’t know…”

Gabe leaned on his hand pleasantly, “Come on kiddo – we need a science officer the captain can hit on.”

Sam let himself laugh, “Oh yeah? And what are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gabe grinned, “The navigator who makes sassy comments, runs around topless sometimes, and gets to be in charge when no one else is around.”

Sam laughed, “That sounds about right? And what about you?”

Crowley stirred whatever awesomeness was in the skillet, “Honestly Winchester, I’d quite apparently be the snappy medical officer with the freedom to be as bitter as I please.”

“Right, don’t know why I had to ask.”

“But we do need someone to remind us all about the prime directive one in a while,” Gabe pressed.

Sam sighed and leaned back, “I don’t know, you guys realize you aren’t exactly normal with any of this right?”

“Normal is severely overrated,” Crowley replied.

Gabriel raised his beer in salute before tossing it back.

“Okay, fine, but there’s totally healthier ways to go about things like this, I mean jesus--”

“Well, what do you want?” Gabe asked.

“What I want is people to stop asking me that damn question,” He snapped before he meant to.

“Maybe it would be significantly less irritating if you took time to consider the answer,” Crowley said calmly as he adjusted the food on the stove.

Sam realized he didn’t really have anything to say to that… and shit, it was because he was completely right.

“You know he went back to Boston,” Gabe said taking a sip.

“What?” Sam asked, turning fast.

“He took the car and went back.”

“Wait so we’re stranded?” Sam started.

“Yeah, he decided to trap us here for safe keeping,” Gabe rolled his eyes, “We keep a car here idiot – we’ll take that back tomorrow.”

“Oh…”

Sam stared down at the counter.

“Why'd he leave?”

Gabe smiled like he was trying not to laugh, “He said he was going to give you some space.”

Crowley was chuckling again at the counter.

Sam stared, “…Seriously.”

Gabe nodded, “Super seriously Sammy.”

Sam groaned and leaned his head down on the counter, “Fucking christ…”

Cas suddenly swept into the kitchen, “Sam - has Dean returned?”

“What? Where did he go?” Sam asked, the worry coming to life in his stomach.

“He left,” Cas said angrily, heading towards the coats and tugging his on.

“When?” Sam asked, half standing.

“Hours ago – I thought he would be back by now. I’m going.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Gabe said standing, “Let’s not all go wandering around into the night for christ’s sake.”

“I’m going.” Cas said simply.

“No, Cas, I’ll go.” Sam said, heading towards the door.

Cas looked at him.

Sam sat back down.

“I’ll be back soon.” Cas said, pulling open the door and heading out into the cold and the dark.

\----------

Whose fucking idea was this anyway? It was cold out on the frozen dirt road– stupid cold, and okay maybe it was only his own fault for walking so far and only turning back when he realized the sun was already gone, but still…

At least his blizzard wishes hadn’t come true. The sky was as clear as it had been all day and if he wasn’t fucking frozen then it might actually be pretty damn stunning with the moon on the snow and the white, blue, silver of it all.

What the hell was he doing…

It was freezing and he was fucking lost for all he knew and why had he left anyways? Yeah, so Sam was being a bitch, well, that happened every now and again. And so what if he wanted to go someplace else? What the fuck was keeping him there? And why the hell did thinking that make his stomach get all stupid and tight and angry all over again, jesus fucking—

“Dean.”

Dean jumped a good foot and definitely, definitely didn’t scream like a rat was loose in ballet rehearsal.

“What the fuck!” He yelled, spinning and oh-

Holy shit.

“I was concerned.” Cas said, “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

He looked half out of breath – his hair was even more messed up than usual, face flushed and cheeks raw and _christ_ eyes that big and that blue should really really not be allowed out in that kind of lighting.

Cas’ breath caught in the cold, “Dean, are you alright?”

And god, he he knew he should tell him to fuck off, wanted to turn around and keep walking and not care where he ended up, but he didn’t. He kept looking at him and the words just fell out.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m not alright – and I don’t know why and I don’t think I want to.”

“You fought with Sam?”

Dean sighed and lolled his head back to look at the sky, “Yeah.”

“What was the source of the argument?”

“Your brother wants to give him everything he’s ever wanted and he’s wondering if California is a better idea.”

Cas’ brow wrinkled, “California?”

Dean shook his head, “You know I just don’t get him… he can be such a damn brat sometimes.”

“He did not like Nick’s proposal.”

“Can you not put it like that Cas, please?”

“Apologies.”

“And it’s not… jesus, I don’t even know, I think he wants to do that, he’s just, well what’s his problem?” Dean yelled.

“I do not know.” Cas said quietly.

“Yeah well I do,” Dean snapped, “You know, he thinks that the world does nothing but shit on him when it’s just the opposite.”

Cas was still staring at him, constant and quiet and there.

“He’s always been lucky,” Dean said. When did his voice get so quiet? “He was smart enough to go to school and do what he wanted, and he doesn't even realize how damn lucky that makes him."

Dean kicked his foot against the snow.

"Dad was so mad when he left, I've never seen him so damn mad - they fought for weeks and…" He stared harder down at his boots, "You know I've been gone for almost three months now, and he hasn't called me once."

"Dean…" He could feel the stare but he wasn't looking back.

"You know Sam just… he think's he's cursed or worse but he's not. He's goddamn lucky because he's something to be missed, not something to be forgotten. But he just doesn't care - doesn't know any better because he's always been special, always been smart!"

"Dean."

No - he wasn't going to look. The anger was back now and he didn't know if he was talking that loud because he felt like yelling or because he knew what the alternative would mean.

"I leave and dad could care less, I come here and now Sam says he can just go off again like it's nothing. But he's just used to it - used to being good enough to not be too damn scared to even have dreams and he takes it for granted, because he's actually worth more than nothing to at least somebody."

"Dean!" And this time he had to look because two tight hands snatched his shoulders and pulled him so hard he almost yelled but when he saw him his breath was gone. Cas was furious.

"Stop it." He said, the frozen weight of his words catching in the blue light, in what should have been room between them, but there wasn't any room. He was close, so close Dean could feel the warmth of him tight against him, so close he couldn't see anything else.

"Just stop." Cas' voice was quiet, pleading, and commanding all at once and Dean could feel it thrum through him from where it's warmth pressed tight and he suddenly realized if Cas tried to step away now he would stop him and not even know why.

But he didn't step away, he pressed closer, as if Dean was the one that was warm not him, which made no sense at all.

"Cas…" Dean gazed down, eyes still wide, staring for something that would make any of it make sense.

Cas breathed out a small hushing sound, and then lifted his chin, just enough to brush his lips over Dean's.

Dean couldn't move. He was warm and close and he could feel the rough edge of his lips and his hair tickled his forehead and he could smell him through the cold- the smell of coffee beans and sandalwood soap and hot stones in summer.

Cas looked back up at him, eyes so wide and so blue.

"Don't leave." He said simply.

Dean stared back; "Alright."

And it really shouldn't have been that easy. But it was.

Cas smiled, gentle and so damn real and before he realized what he was doing Dean was gripping his hair and turning his head and kissing him again.

He felt Cas' smile and pushed it apart, shutting his eyes as tight as he could, letting his other hand catch his jaw, feel the stubble under his fingers softer than he'd thought it would be, and jesus, he had been imagining this, he'd been thinking about this for so damn long and not even realizing it and now it was here, under his lips yielding and firm all at once, soft and just a bit askew and he was damned if he was letting it go yet.

But Cas pushed back, one warm hand on Dean's chest, another holding the side of his hip as if to promise he wasn't going away.

He shook his head once with a small laugh and leaned his forehead against Dean's.

"I wanted to do that the first time I saw you."

Dean grinned, "Yeah... I know what you mean."

Cas' hand gave a little tug on his hip and easy as that they were together again. Dean let his lips slip open, sweeping his tongue across Cas' lower lip because it was really fucking asking for it and Cas almost gasped, mouth opening with a warm surprised breath and Dean chased it. Cas met him like it was a prayer and Dean hated himself for a moment as a small sound swelled in his chest.

Cas' hand slipped quickly, messily up his chest to his neck, long fingers knotting his his hair, over his freezing ears as his tongue darted forward, pressing, begging and Dean was gone with it, drunk on it, loving the way he came undone bit by bit, all that grace falling into something scrambling and equally beautiful and hotter than fucking hell--

He tugged back.

"House," Dean breathed.

Cas nodded, clumsy and quiet, and holy fuck if he kept looking like that with his hair where Dean had pulled it and his lips open and red he wasn't going to give shit any more how damn cold it was.

\--

Cas practically dragged him back to the house, which was thankfully only a few minutes walk (since apparently Dean'd managed to do some sort of angst circle during his walk). Dean caught his hands wherever he could, sliding them up through the back of Cas' hair (and wow was he never getting tired of that), slipping a hand under his coat towards the slim line of his waist, across his shoulders, around the back of his neck - how had he not realized how much of him he wanted to, _needed_ to touch?

And all the while Cas continued towards the house with this dead set determination that was just sexy as hell, obviously doing his stoic best to hold back and not spin as Dean caught his hands around him teasingly, because the sooner they got back the better, and he'd actually held out, was still holding out, one hand locked tight around Dean's, tugging him forward while Dean reached out for his hair again, caught it and tugged it back a little.

Cas made this frustrated growling noise that had Dean's stomach doing wretched things and then Dean was pushing against him, urging them both up the last of the driveway and towards the thankfully darkened windows.

Cas' hand scrambled at the doorknob and caught it.

They fell inside, and Dean hardly had time to hear the door slam behind them before Cas caught him and shoved him harder than he should have been able to back against it. And jesus he must have been pissing him off playing grabby hands all the way up the driveway because Cas kissed him hard enough to hurt and pushed tight in a way that seemed to scream that he was going to make up for it and then some.

And Dean was about 1000% fucking fine with that decision.

He raked his hands up through Cas' hair- _shit_ he really couldn't stop doing that- tugging again and Cas let out this growl into his mouth that made Dean's legs go stupid and eyes blink fast and wild. But Cas was pushing him too tight against the door to notice, mouth now off of his with tight little strangled breaths against his neck, tracing the lines of his jaw, crowding up into the space behind his ear.

Dean could hardly think, everything had gone hazy and full of touch and not much else, and jesus how the hell had they not been doing this for days, weeks, how had they not started doing this the second they were standing within two feet of each other? And how had he just now realized he wanted it this damn bad? But no… that wasn't really right was it? He had known he wanted this, wanted it since he looked up and saw those sincere blue eyes so wide looking back into his, startled and awed and innocent all at once, eyes that were now folded shut under long lashes he felt tickling the underside of his jaw as a mouth opened against the rise of his neck and _shitshitshit._

Dean hardly managed to swallow a groan, arching up off the door, using his hold on Cas' hair to pull his head back and kiss him again, deeper, harder, because his brain was starting to shut down and not care anymore about thinking anything through besides: more - he needed more, he needed all of it, right fucking now.

And Cas took it all, swelled up into it with a small moan that Dean could taste on his tongue and feel in the chest so close to his. Dean's hands fisted tight in Cas' stupid too-thin jacket and spun him hard against the door, too full of him to care how loud that was, too drunk on the way his warm tongue felt against his lips still cold from the chill outside, and Cas was smiling even as Dean kissed him and that was doing things too, things that didn't pool in his groin like the rest but sent snaking little tendrils up his chest where they squeezed too hard.

Cas' tongue swept across his, tracing, learning with desperate haste and then Dean's hands caught his hips and tightened and Cas' teeth snatched at his lip and Dean made a sound a good deal too high and a good deal too thick and dammit if he was going to get him back for that.

He pulled away and before Cas could tug him back he ran his open lips across the line of Cas' neck and the noise he made had Dean's brain shutting down completely--

"Dean-" Cas gasped, hands struggling to find some purchase.

But Dean could hardly hear him above the buzz flowing through his entire body. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this, hell, if he'd ever felt like this. It wasn't just that straight driving lust that usually came with sex, it was crawling all over him, scrambling and clumsy and making him do things he wasn't even aware of, making him knit his hand through one of Cas' and hold it tight against the door, pushing him back, holding him there as he let his mouth slide down, tongue catching on the prominent collar bone, smelling the cold on his clothes and that warm scent of him hiding underneath it.

And jesus how was this so easy? Why did he want to just melt - just press tight enough, hard enough to just melt into him, feel each and every pulse, stretch his fingers down through his, breathe his breath and know that his warmth was his and no one else's … and when did want turn into need, and why didn't he care even the tiniest bit about how much this should be terrifying him? Maybe because it wasn't… maybe because the feeling of Cas writhing under him was turning his brain into a white hot mess and not much else--

Cas' hand snatched for a hold on his belt, thumb sliding over the bone of his hip as he tried to bite down on a gasp. Dean pulled back long enough to see him, eyes fluttering, brows tight and hard, lips fallen open as he slumped against the door - and why the hell had he stopped kissing him?

He leaned in with a hungry sound but Cas caught his face in his hand and the blue eyes snapped to his, blown out and starving and almost dangerous and _fuck_ no one should look that good--

"Upstairs." Cas breathed, voice rumbling, fingers tight against Dean's jaw.

"Fuck yes," Dean was nodding without thinking, words falling out in piles as he tugged him by his collar back to his lips, walking them backwards.

He hit one of the kitchen stools within three steps. The thing went clattering to the floor and Cas was laughing low against his jaw.

"Shutup-" Dean got out in one breath, sliding his hands up under Cas' coat at the shoulders and pushing it back hard, but Cas hardly seemed to notice, letting it slip off easy, long fingers snatching behind Dean's neck and tugging his mouth back to his.

Dean tugged Cas' t-shirt out of his pants as the back of his feet hit the stairs. He slid his hands up under in one motion and Cas sucked in a breath--

"Cold," He almost swore against Dean's ear, hands shoving at Dean's old leather coat.

Dean pulled his hands back to let Cas get the coat off of him, "Sorry,"

"No, it's good-" Cas said, and god the way he said it and what this was doing to his voice, his everything, unwinding him, making all those tight edges fall away like his clothes on the floor, leaving nothing but this taunt eager frame scrambling against his, desperate and thoughtless and _fuckfuck--_

Cas tugged at Dean's shirt before he could get at his again, pulled a bit too hard and Dean fell backwards halfway up the stairs, but then Cas was in his lap and he forgot they were on the stairs, forgot there was even such a thing as stairs.

Cas' graceful hands snatched at the fabric as his thighs pressed tight against his, tugging the shirt up over his head as Dean raised his arms for as short a time as possible. As soon as the thing was gone his hands were back on the sharp bones of Cas' hips, tugging him tighter, closer. Cas bent his back to get an angle and opened his mouth against Dean's chest.

Dean swore and felt his cock throb tight and too damn hard against his jeans and Cas must have noticed because he made this low hungry noise that Dean felt more than heard and stood again, despite Dean's sounds of protest, tugging him up by the back of his neck, pushing him backwards up the remaining steps while Dean tried to snatch at his shirt.

He got it just as they got to the door, pulling it over Cas' head in one clumsy motion and Cas fell into his arms as they fell into their room. As soon as he felt Cas' skin against his it wasn't nearly enough, not even close and he was snatching at his belt too damn fast. But Cas was faster, pushing him solidly back.

Dean hit the bed and bounced once before Cas was practically fucking _climbing_ up on top of him, all nails and open lips and desperate holds and Dean let himself lean back and just soak it in for a minute.

Cas' hands pressed up his sides, mouth open on his stomach, nail digging in against his ribs. Dean's hand snatched into his hair as he gasped something, words maybe, probably something along the lines of _jesus fucking christ_ and hopefully not _you're too damn perfect and don't you dare fucking stop._

But whatever it was must have been alright because Cas looked up at him, eyes heavy and thick and somehow still lined with that innocent radiance unlike anything Dean had ever seen, at least until he ducked his head down and pushed his open lips over the bulge in Dean's jeans and Dean fucking lost it.

" _Fuck Cas--_ "

Cas pushed harder, Dean couldn't take his eyes away from him, watching as Cas kissed again and then a flash of pink as his tongue darted out and ran wet and careless up the clothed length and Dean fucking _whimpered._

Cas seemed to come apart a bit more at that because suddenly he was tugging at Dean's belt desperately, fingers hitting his hips on the way hard enough to hurt. But no way was he getting there first--

Dean caught one hand cleanly in the middle of Cas' chest and pushed him upright, popping Cas' belt open and sliding his jean's down past his thighs.

Cas was in his lap again all tight yet yielding skin, warm and cool all at once and pressing panting. Dean hardly had him there for a minute before his hand was finding it's way between them and pushing tight against Cas' cock through his boxers.

Cas swore. Loudly.

And shit, _shit,_ he couldn't last like this, not like this with him like that-- Dean could hardly see through the want slapped over his eyes, hardly feel or think about anything but Cas: Cas here, coming apart completely in his lap and looking so damn perfect with the blue light of the moon crashing off the snowy fields outside and up into this room, _their_ room, making all the sharp edges of him stand out clearer, turning his hair almost indigo, and making his eyes glow when they opened and locked on to his, forehead falling forward to rest against Dean's and who was breathing that hard? It must be him because his chest felt like fire and the sliding heat of Cas' cock through the dampening cotton of his boxers was too damn good he couldn't help tightening around him, tugging down hard and fast.

Cas gasped, head sliding off his, teeth catching his shoulder, hands tugging at his belt too clumsy now in their desperation, "Please, Dean, please--"

Dean's chest tightened hard at that and he couldn't help pushing Cas' back gently, running a hand slowly up his chest, tracing the line of his neck reverently as Cas arched it obediently, slowing his hands enough to manage Dean's belt. Dean watched him, knowing how wide his own eyes must be, hating to think about what his face was doing and still not caring, not even thinking. His hand left Cas' neck and he twisted his wrist and pulled down on his cock and Cas' lips fell open with half formed words.

Dean moved as slowly as he fucking could, desperate to hold it together, desperate to memorize at least one damn moment. He let the tips of his fingers slide over Cas' open lips, feeling Cas throb in his hand at the motion, feeling his own throat tighten and his cock beg at the feel of it.

Cas was done with his belt and his fly and his hands were scrambling for more and Dean couldn't hold back any longer. He let his hips thrust up hard, cock sliding into Cas' hand so damn perfectly.

Dean moaned loud and thoughtless, fingers slipping into Cas' mouth now and Cas caught them both, tight and hot and _jesusfuckingchrist_ he was going to come right there without even getting out of his jeans, without even feeling the smooth heat of Cas' bared against him, but no, no that was unacceptable.

Dean's hand snapped to Cas' waist band and tugged him out. Cas' hips slammed forward, closing the distance between them, gasping as his head fell back down to his chest, eyes falling open wide and heavy, apparently just having to look.

Cas' cock was heavy and already too wet against his hand, throbbing in a way that made Dean wanted to spoil him, push him back and tease and learn each inch, each motion that would make muddled curses fall from his lips, or gasps of prayers, or anything, everything, but god the look on his face, the way he watched his hand slide - Dean's hips were crashing forward all on their own, stupid and desperate and Cas' hands were tugging at him, guiding them together, skin hitting skin suddenly with a rush of heat and Dean's head fell back with a cry.

And god this was going to happen - this was going to happen really fucking soon and he had to do something, but Cas was already there, canting his hips and driving them forward and snatching at Dean's hand, wrapping it around both of them as his breath went to hell.

"Just go--" Stumbled out of him, clean and messy on the edges and Dean snapped his wrist hard.

Their gasps caught together and dammit it was too much, he couldn't stop, nothing could make him stop, he ground his hips forward, hand driving down rough and messy and fast and words were falling out of Cas in a soundless stream as his whole body tensed and bucked and Dean's hands caught in his hair and pulled because he need to see, had to see, had to hold on just long enough--

Cas cried out, eyes flying open wide and blue as his orgasm pulled through him, frantic and desperate, coming in hot spurts into Dean's hand that was suddenly wet and slick and _fuckfuckk-_

It shattered into him, and there was nothing but the blue light catching on Cas and the feeling of his slick cock still hard against him and himhim _him_.

Dean gasped as the last pulse shot through his body and his head fell into Cas' shoulder, heavy and damp.

He could feel as Cas' breathing slowed, one of his hands tracing lightly through his hair.

Dean opened his eyes just enough to see the blue light spilling into the room.

"…Did I say I'd stay?" His voice was ragged but there all the same.

He felt Cas' body tighten under his arms.

"Yes."

Dean let himself smile, "Good."

\-----

Sam lay on the couch in the living room, still trying to make himself as small as possible, still staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

He stayed like that for sometime and then finally pulled his phone out of his pocket, pushed it on and began to type.

_SAM  
I just had to listen to our brothers having sex._

He stared at the screen for a while, the blue light spilling over his face. It vibrated gently after a minute or two.

_NICK  
Details?_

Sam smiled.

_SAM  
I think they fell down the stairs._

_NICK  
Sounds about right._

_SAM  
I think your other brother and his girlfriend applauded after. _

_NICK  
Also about right._

Sam stared for a minute, finger tracing lightly over the screen.

_SAM  
Are you going to be in the office tomorrow?_

_NICK  
Clients aren't going to steal themselves._

Sam hesitated in the blue light and then moved his fingers again.

_SAM  
Will I see you there?_

_NICK  
If you'd like to._

Sam let his head fall back against the armrest. After a few moments his phone buzzed again on his chest. He lifted it up.

_NICK_  
 _Goodnight, Sam._

_SAM_  
 _Goodnight._


	9. Chapter 9

Sam was up before the sun had even managed to roll itself over the mountains. Well, up was a relative term… you sort of had to be at least down in order to get up, not lolling around awkwardly someplace in the middle for most of the wee hours.

But he was vertical now, wether he wanted it or not, standing by the doors that led out to the backyard, watching as the world went from grey to blue to gold. He was supposed to be thinking, wasn't he? That's why his head felt so full - thinking not being done and needing to be done? But it was significantly more difficult than he felt it was supposed to be.

He pushed his forearm into the cold of the glass and leaned his head against it - staring out at the white covered ground, trying to imagine what it might look like in the summer. Funny, how snow did that - all the rivets and colors and anything else just pushed gently down and smoothed over into white. The few craggily apple trees just beyond the stone wall waited still, sleeping. A few birds were moving between them now, picking at the one or two bits of resilient fruit that still clung there.

He should be thinking. He should have been thinking all night.

Well, he had been… but it kept going all wrong in his head and he couldn't seem to wrangle it back where it should be. It should be him considering his future, his career - what did he want out of his profession, and what did this mean for that? What were the benefits of a partnership? What were the upsides to starting clean with a new firm somewhere else? But it hadn't been that…

Somehow the words "professional" and "opportunity" and "progressive career path" hadn't even flitted across his brain, which was just idiotic because the fact that those sharp eyes seemed a totally different blue in the snow should not have been important enough to push all those other things aside. But it did. And other things too, like the way he tapped his thumb and ring finger together idly when he was reading, or how those stupid glasses left little dents on the side of his nose, and how when it was late, and they'd been up with papers longer then they should have he would try so hard not to seem tired but his body would go just that much looser than usual and he didn't control the way his hands moved closer to Sam's almost on their own.

But those things shouldn't matter. They couldn't matter less. This wasn't about that - it couldn't be or else… Or else he would have stayed up all night wondering over the most obvious career choice of his entire life.

"Shit."

And god if it didn't feel like the thousandth time in past twenty four hours he'd said that - hours which hadn't been made any easier by the frankly olympic sounding sex acts surrounding him on all sides.

After he'd witnessed more of Dean slamming his tongue down someone's throat than he ever _ever_ needed to, he'd actually almost managed to slip off until Gabe had apparently decided they were throwing down some freaky sexual gauntlet and it all went to hell from there on out.

Sam'd locked himself in the study to try and get some shut-eye, but the dreams that kept creeping up on him (dreams that were definitely _definitely_ from the environmental sounds and nothing else) had him awake hardly half an hour later and now, well, now the sun was rising and he felt sick and either couldn't think or couldn't help thinking too damn much and wasn't totally sold on either.

His phone had felt like a brick since last night, even now it was weighing down in his pocket, constantly reminding him it was there.

Well… he wasn't sleeping anyways, was he? Sam pulled the phone out, stared for a minute, and then dialed before he could think too much about it.

It rang once.

"Sam?"

And wow, hearing that grumbly voice was far more comforting than he'd expected.

"…Sam? You there?"

"Yeah, hey Bobby," Sam sighed.

"It's pretty early, son - somethin' wrong?"

"Oh - right, no, I just - did I wake you up? I'm sorry--"

"No, no," Bobby said quickly, "You know me, I'm up."

"Yeah," Sam smiled.

The phone was quiet for a minute and Sam shut his eyes tighter to try and force his mind, to make at least a bit of sense.

"You sure nothing's wrong, Sam?" Bobby said finally.

Sam sighed, "No…"

"Yeah, thought as much," Sam heard a chair squeak through the phone and could almost see the old man settling himself in behind his desk, "What's going on?"

Sam leaned his head against the cold of the glass, "A lot."

"Well, you got to break it down a bit for me there, son, lord knows I'm not the sharpest blade on the rack."

Sam let himself smile, "Right,"

"So?"

"I think I like someone."

And wow… that had… happened…

"Okay, Sam - I'll call the papers."

"No, it's not… it's a bit weird."

"Weird, you boys? Stop it, before all my realities crumble right the hell away,"

"Weirder."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, what exactly's so abnormal?"

"It's my boss."

"Mmm, well that's--"

"But he won't be soon…"

"Alright… well that's one down. What else?"

"I don't know," Sam sighed heavily, turning and leaning his back against the door, "I don't know I'm just…"

"Scared?" Bobby said finally, "Caring sort of does that sometimes."

Sam swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know what to do, Bobby."

"You think too much Sam," Bobby said kindly, "That's always been your problem - you get so caught up with what you should do or could do, you end up turned around three ways by Sunday."

"So, what do I do?"

"Quit askin'," Bobby said, "Quit worryin'. You're a good kid Sam, wether you think it or not, it's just fact, so no point in arguin'. And you're smart enough to take care of yourself. Just ignore that head of yours gettin' it's foot out in front of you all the time and let yourself do what feels right without turning it into a ten way analysis of your damn psyche - which is just fine by the way."

It was weird, how just hearing things that seemed so simple could sometimes make everything better than you had ever expected they could be. Sam could already feel the tightness in his chest loosening, stress bit by bit sneaking out of his limbs, because he was right, wasn't he?

"Anything else?" Sam asked, voice somehow calmer and lighter than it had been hardly thirty seconds ago.

"That's about it really, only, I don't know much for certain Sam, but I do know one thing,"

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

“Regret's a considerably larger bitch than plain old disappointment."

Sam swallowed, "Yeah, yeah I hear you."

"Should hope so yah idgit - now wake up your brother, make him brew you some coffee."

Sam smiled, "Yeah, maybe I'll try."

"Good,"

"See yah Bobby, thanks."

"Anytime, son."

Sam hung up the phone.

He turned towards the kitchen but wound up on the couch and was half asleep before he could try to be otherwise. He felt calmer, better. It was true - there was nothing to think about. He didn't need to think about it. It would all be what it was and nothing else.

His eyes slunk shut and just before unconsciousness his brain barely flickered with the realization that he'd said "he" on the phone and Bobby hadn't even noticed… or hadn't even cared. Sam felt himself smile just as he drifted off to sleep.

\---

Dean didn't want to wake up. He was pretty sure he was there already, but hey, he had to open his eyes first right? It didn't count unless you opened your eyes. So, he didn't. He didn't want to wake up.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect, beyond perfect, and he didn't want that to change. If he opened his eyes it might. If he woke up he might actually _wake up_ and perfect would just be a stupid word on posters in elementary school nurse’s offices and day time TV. But dreams could be perfect - that was alright, that was allowed. So, he kept his eyes shut and breathed in the smell of Cas' hair, drank up the way his body fit so damn perfectly against his own, like it was made to go there, like it had been built with that in mind and now that it had found it's place, wedged in so exactly as it should be, he couldn't imagine the feeling of it going away. He didn't think there was a word for the kind of cold he would feel without it there.

He breathed deep and took it in, all of it, because if it was a dream, and he had to wake up, he wanted to keep it all, snug and tight in his memory. There was the way Cas' piano fingers fell, one wrapped around Dean's upper arm, the other just barely touching his hair from where it rested on the pillow by their heads. The was the feel of his skinny legs snaked around Dean's, casual but possessive, like if Dean tried to get up they would tighten just a bit in protest. The sharp tip of his nose lay along Dean's throat, moving just enough with each of his breaths, breaths that rose his chest, his slight dark chest hair scratching against Dean's side.

Dean stayed still for a minute longer and then let his hand slide up Cas' arm - it was his dream after all, he could do whatever he wanted. He let the back of his knuckles slip over the sinewy lines of his neck, fingertips in the thick scratch of his hair. His thumb slid of his jaw, following the line of stubble down to his sharp chin, and up to the full fold of his lower lip, running over it once.

Cas made a small humming sound and Dean felt the deepness of his voice.

Cas' body shifted, rolling slightly, his legs tightening against Dean's, his nose digging in a little deeper to his neck.

"Are you awake?" Cas asked, voice even rougher than usual, groggy and hardly words at all.

Dean shut his eyes tighter, "No."

"Mmm,"

Dean snuck his hand up into his hair again and held it there.

"I don't want to wake up," Dean said quietly.

Cas rolled over onto his back, easing a hand behind Dean's neck, "I'm sympathetic."

Dean smiled.

He should be terrified. He couldn't remember when he'd woken up with someone last, but he remembered the lead it had dropped into his stomach, that plummeting panicked feeling of a need for escape, space, something. He'd waited for it to drop this morning, but it just hadn't. He felt calm, peaceful, god forbid even something close to pretty damn happy, and hearing Cas' voice, knowing he was really there was only making it better. It should be weird - it should be weird, and mortifying and terrifying. But it wasn't.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head and opened his eyes.

And hey, maybe being awake did had some advantages.

Cas smiled back at him - his eyes were hardly half open, but they were bright all the same, blue glinting out like gems from the bottom of some sunken cave. And wow, he really was turning into a complete girl…

Cas eased himself forward, lips pressing against Dean's, soft and slow and just a bit open. He pulled back after a moment, just enough to lean their foreheads together.

"Is that all?" Dean smiled.

"Not even close," Cas grinned.

Dean laughed and shook his head, "Your brother's going to give me hell as soon as I leave this room isn't he?"

"Oh, most certainly."

\---

It turned into a decidedly weird morning.

Dean opened their door only to get a face full of confetti - which he only realize later, when showering the paper out to his hair, was homemade from some old law books that must have come from down stairs.

That pancakes were amazing at least, despite the fact that they had "Happy Sex!" written on them with whipped cream. It was probably best not to think too much about how easy it all was to deal with, and how the little amused smile on Cas' face was probably a massive part of that, even when Gabriel was whistling "Blow My Whistle Baby" as he packed in the other room.

Sam slept late - later than Dean had ever known he was capable of actually. It had been almost noon when Gabe finally banged on the door and yelled for him to "get his lanky ass out of their house". He stumbled out the front door just as they were finishing packing up the car, still looking groggy but also weirdly contented. Dean had to stare at him for a minute, since it had been a while since he'd seen him looking like he didn't need at least three cups of coffee and a five day weekend. He seemed rested and happy and that tightness he usually had with the assumed weight of the world on his shoulders was just sort of gone.

Dean couldn't help being a bit thrown. He'd been trying to figure out how to manage "a talk" most of the morning, but now, now it somehow didn't really seem all that important.

Sam climbed into the back of the old Jeep happily, smiling at Dean and Cas in a lazy way and settling in against the door as Crowley complained about having to move his seat too far forward and fought with Gabe between NPR classical and some station that was apparently 97% Ke$ha.

It was one of those lazy afternoons that made time feel like it stood still and passed instantly all at once, so by the time Dean picked his head off the window to see the buildings rising high on either side he'd hardly had time to notice the drive at all.

He stretched his back a bit and suddenly noticed that Cas had gone all still next to him. Where his body had been loose and casual only hours ago it now felt rigid and resisting - as if he was aware of every inch where Dean touched him and didn't know what to do about it. Dean glanced at his face, but he wasn't looking at him, he was staring straight ahead with blank look, that little line in his forehead.

Not long after that, Crowley, who had apparently taken over driving at some point before getting into the city, pulled over, and it took Dean a minute to realize they were home. Weren't they? He stared at the building for a moment, looking up at the windows he knew led to his and Sam's place and if felt strange, so much more distant than Cas' stern warmth next to him.

"As much as I enjoy double parking, I am not actually here to develop a hobby," Crowley said out of the front.

"Oh!" Sam said suddenly, as if he just realized they were stopped, "I was actually hoping I could get a lift back to the office, if that's not too much trouble."

"Fine, but only because I left a pack of starburst in my desk and need to win a bet," Gabe smirked.

"You're not going to beat six seconds," Crowley grinned, "You'll pull something,"

"Don't tread on my dreams," Gabe pouted.

The car went quiet for a minute.

Sam leaned over, "Uh, Dean?"

Dean's attention snapped to him, "What? Oh, uh right, right--"

He tugged at the door handle and it fell open, with him falling out after it. He felt cold suddenly. Cas wasn't looking at him.

Dean held onto the door for a minute.

"Coming?" He said finally.

Cas' eyes turned to meet his - wide and wary, as if they were holding something back. After a moment he nodded and climbed out, shutting the door behind them. Dean pulled his bag out of the back and shut the trunk just as the car pulled away, back into the steady sound of Boston traffic.

Dean shifted the weight of the duffle-bag on his shoulder. Cas stood where he had left him, firmly on the sidewalk, the cold wind shifting his coat side to side as his eyes stared determinedly at his own shoes.

"So," Dean managed with a rough clear of his throat.

"I can return to the firm if you'd like," Cas said suddenly, "There's much I can get done there."

Dean furrowed his brow, "What?"

"Just," Cas glanced at him face so full of worry it dropped it back down to the ground, "If you'd like."

Dean tried to smile, but it was a bit hard with him looking like that, "Yeah, still not getting it Cas…"

"I-" Cas started, and then stopped. He kicked at a small bit of ice with his shoe, "I only mean to say I will understand if you'd…"

He trailed again, sighed, and then looked Dean full in the face.

"I value our friendship, and what it has been." He said finally, "And I understand that now that we have returned and that life resumes as before perhaps you would like things to continue as they have."

"Well, yeah," Dean tried, hating the tight feeling in his throat, "I do."

Cas nodded and looked back down.

"But," Dean said, taking a step closer, "If you think for one second that means that I don't want to get you upstairs first, I'm gonna have to disappoint."

Cas looked back at him, wide-eyed in that surprised way, lips opened a bit, far too perfectly.

Before he could think too hard about how much he would laugh if he could see himself Dean reached out a hand towards him. Cas took it, and Dean tugged him close enough to feel his warmth again. He kissed him, once, twice, quick but soft.

"I want what we've had, and what we have. Okay?"

Cas nodded and made a soft humming noise.

"Want to go get dinner?" Dean asked.

Cas looked the inch or so up to his eyes, his own growing dark, "Not just now."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, I know, but after."

"Yes."

"What do you feel like getting?"

"I don't care."

"No, come on," Dean smiled, "I want to know what you like."

It was getting easier than it should have been to ignore the girly crap coming out of his mouth.

Cas smiled, knitting their free hands together and walking towards the building, "Burgers."

Dean laughed, "Really?"

"Yes."

"With what?"

"Everything - and extra pickles."

"What else?" Dean smiled, letting go of Cas' hand to fumble his keys out of his pocket.

"Milkshakes."

"What flavor?"

"Chocolate."

Dean nodded approvingly, "Awesome,"

He shouldered the door open, and shut out the city behind them.

\---

It was dark by the time Sam climbed out of the car in front of the firm, well, as dark as it ever got in the city. The cars hummed on the road behind him, and the light of the traffic and the fading sunset caught up against the tall windows of the building.

He let himself sigh once, tasting the city on it - cold, dirty snow, street salt, roasted peanuts, cigarettes, subway. He looked up at the building - strange, how different it seemed after how long? Three months, four? Then he'd stood here with his bike, staring at it like it some some Everest he'd managed to get a foothold on, and now, now it felt small, well, not small, but simple, cold and closed and nothing close to the opening sense of freedom pulsing deep in his chest.

He liked this not thinking thing - it made stuff easier, and his stomach hurt a lot less. Of course it always helped to have someone you trust tell you there's nothing to worry about…

Sam tried to find out the windows of the 23rd floor. The lights were still on so it was harder to pick out the one he was looking for. If it was later, maybe two or three, it would be easy. There would be one window up there, golden and glowing, a shadow behind it shifting occasionally as he moved in his old leather chair, adjusting himself as he read something or other without noticing the time. Sam suddenly wondered if he'd ever had a first day. Had he ever walked up to these doors and had the sense of fearful anticipation clinging tight to his gut? Sam doubted it. He could see him now, swaggering through the doors like he already owned them, hell he probably did. But maybe, maybe under all that he had been nervous, excited, something. Maybe.

Sam let himself look for a minute longer and then headed inside.

It took the elevator a minute to arrive, but when it did it got there empty and Sam let himself slouch in one corner when the doors closed and he waited for it to make it's way up. He was enjoying casual clothes these past few days more than he would have thought he could - it had been too damn long since he'd been wearing anything that wasn't fit for proper presentation in government buildings.

The little numbers lit up nicely one by one, and finally the doors dinged and slipped open.

Sam righted himself and-- "Oh!"

Nick stared at him on the other side of the doors, "Oh."

Sam shifted, “I, uh-- are you going down?"

Nick evaluated him carefully, "I don't know, am I?"

He was actually wearing a suit today, it was the lighter grey one, with the thin black tie, white shirt. Sam wondered what client he'd been trying to impress. He wondered if it was possible for them not to be.

"You look pretty," Sam said with a grin.

And he had to savor the look he got in return - the way Nick's eyes went wide and shocked and how his mouth went a bit loose as his body tightened up all at once.

He was right - that was fun.

It didn't last long.

"One of us should after all," Nick smiled, giving him a good brow-raised once over.

Sam smiled, "Yeah, well, it's my day off."

"Is that right?"

"Yup."

"Playing hooky? Won't your boss be upset with you?" Nick asked calmly.

"Oh, he won't mind," Sam said, "I think he's got a soft spot for me."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Nick said, but the little smile hiding in the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Sam reached out to catch the doors as they tried to close.

"You getting in?"

Nick glanced at the elevator as if he'd almost forgotten it was there at all.

He eyed Sam smugly, "You weren't coming up for anything in particular?"

Sigh sighed, "Are you getting in or not?"

Nick held his gaze and after a moment he stepped inside.

Sam moved his hand and let the doors shut. He reached out and hit the button for the main floor.

Nick stood still beside him, and somehow, suddenly the whole elevator felt full of him, full of something.

Sam thought that he should say something, knew he should, there was a lot to talk about, a lot to understand and a lot to say, but he didn't feel like talking. He felt like stepping closer, so he did.

He took one step, and then another, and then another, but that one left Nick eased gently against the wall of the elevator with one of Sam's feet between his.

Sam stared down at the space between them. There wasn't much of it. He could see Nick's hands on the rail against the wall and couldn't help but notice how tight they seemed, saw the rise of his chest under his shirt and tie and couldn't help but notice how heavy it came.

Sam closed his eyes and breathed, thick and slow.

He heard a voice, close to him, smooth and ragged all at once, "What is it Sam?"

Sam's mouth pulled a bit at the corner, "You smell like snow." He mumbled.

He slid his hands out until he felt skin at his fingertips. He eased them down until his hands found some to match. He kept his eyes shut and dipped his head until he felt the edge of a nose against his, felt breath against his skin.

He breathed back, but it came out words - well one word.

It was a simple word, but just saying it felt so damn good it might as well have been the sins of the world falling out into the light.

Sam heard Nick's breath catch at the sound of it. So he said it again. And this time he closed the distance between them, pressing his body right up against his, tilting his head until he could feel his breath.

"Again," A voice whispered, raw, thick.

Sam smiled, brushed his lips once over his, and repeated: "Yes."

He hardly had time to breathe before there was a hand snatching hard into his hair, lips slamming into his, all heat and want and _him_.

_"Ding"_

The elevator doors slid open someplace miles away and Sam felt himself laugh, it must have been him, because it sounded like his voice, but things had gone a bit wobbly and he couldn't be certain. He didn't think he could manage to put more than two thoughts together now if he tried, but it didn't matter. He laughed again at that. It just didn't matter. He felt so _right_ under his hands - firm and soft all at once, warm and cool, exactly like he'd known he would be, and it was filling Sam with something that felt dangerously close to a thunderstorm wrapping around his chest.

Sam stared down at him, and he stared back up, blue so sharp Sam knew he should be terrified, and part of him was, but most of him was okay with that, so he smiled in a loose, ragged sort of way. And Nick smiled back in a manner that poured up from his mouth into his eyes. His hand tightened around Sam's. In the far away place that hardly mattered Sam could hear muttering that might have been other people's voices, but he didn't have time to listen.

"Take me home?" Sam asked. Well, breathed mostly.

Nick's eyes went dark all at once.

Sam leaned closer with a smiled whisper, "Please--"

That was it. The hand around his tightened so hard he almost cried out but then he was being dragged out of the elevator and across the marble of the lobby so fast he had to stumble afterwards. He almost fell, but Nick didn't seem to care or even notice, he just kept pulling him towards the door, hand on his like a vice, until he hit it hard, forcing both of them out into the noise, cold, and orange light of the street.

Sam tried to focus but his head still felt like it was full of cotton, his limbs felt too tight, his tongue far too heavy.

"Where's your car?" He managed.

Nick didn't answer him, instead he slipped two fingers between his lips and whistled. Loudly.

"Jesus--" Sam groaned because he really _really_ couldn't help it.

His hand tightened on Nick's to pull him back around to him, not caring one bit that they were standing in the middle of the street, hell, he hardly even remembered what a street was right now - but a taxi was already swerving sharply and was next to the curb in a minute. Nick had hardly stopped moving, and now his hand locked around the door, tugged it open and shoved Sam inside to the smell of warm worn leather.

Sam managed to stammer out his address before Nick was in after him, shutting the door tight. The cab pulled away but Sam didn't have time to notice because there was a hand around the back of his neck, tugging him hard to open lips.

He expected it to be rough, and it was, but he hadn't expected it to be slow, so slow his throat went tight and his chest smoldered in one hot knot. But god - he kissed like he was memorizing him and consuming him all at once, lips pushing Sam's apart carefully, easily, firmly - his tongue pressing thick and arrogant, slipping up against Sam's with such confidence and assurance it was as if he already knew every inch of him. And Sam took it, let him press deeper, marveling at how something could be so reverent and so demanding all at once as much, dragging him out with deep pushes and Sam forgot about time, forgot about anything and everything except the feeling of being taken apart by this, slowly but surely.

And then Nick let him go.

Sam blinked as the cab jerked to a stop. Nick was paying him, he must have been because half a moment later Sam was standing on the sidewalk with the cold catching up under his hair. He felt lost and didn't know why and then a hand was in his and the world came back into focus. He looked down at him. Nick looked up into his face, eyes wide, lips red from pressing against his. Sam swallowed and then his breath hitched as he felt a hand slip from his waist down into his jean's pocket. His whole body tensed and waited but the hand only pulled his keys free and pushed them into his hand.

"Inside," Nick said, looking back up, tone almost dangerous and lower than Sam had ever heard it, "Now."

And then it was Sam's turn to do the pulling. He dragged him up the few steps, fingers slamming the key into the lock and jerking it open a good deal too roughly. They were up one fight, then another, then another. Some distant part of Sam's brain wondered if he'd ever taken the stairs three at a time before?

He hit his door keys first and Nick hit his back just as quickly, hands sliding with fast confidence under his jacket, under his shirt, slipping around his bare skin over his stomach and making a sound that seemed to suggest it felt as good as he'd known it would and _dammit_ who the hell invented keys anyways?

Nick's hands snatched his hips hard and spun him around, slamming Sam's back against the door and easily taking the keys from him. He kissed him again, rough and fast and Sam heard his hands easily sliding the key into place and turning until the door opened and they tumbled into the apartment.

It was dark but it couldn't matter less, Nick reached out for him but Sam grabbed his wrist firmly because he was not getting distracted again until he could do it properly. He turned him around the corner and kissed him back through the door of his room.

"Lights," Nick commanded against his lips and Sam, reached out blindly, hitting the switch on the wall that snapped the orange glow of his bedside lamp into life.

He leaned forward to kiss him again but suddenly there was a hand on his chest and it shoved him back against the closed door so hard Sam grunted and tried to focus enough to see what was happening.

Nick had stopped. He was staring at his hand on Sam's chest. Sam was breathing hard, he wanted to move, wanted to snatch into his hair and make him kiss him like that again but the hand was tight and commanding so he stayed where he was, chest rising and falling with quick weight.

Nick's eyes trailed up his chest to his neck, his jaw, finally landing on his lips.

He groaned, as if stopping their rushed frantic kissing was the worse idea he'd ever had, and Sam felt everything in him swell like some wave theatening to dash him apart. Nick stepped closer, close enough for Sam feel his the heat of him, but he didn't touch him yet, just his hand still on his chest holding him steady. He met Sam's eyes and Sam felt his heart jump. Nick's were blown out - like some starved dangerous thing, the blue just visible and shining hard and bright.

"I'm going to ruin you, Sam," He growled, "You know that, don't you?"

_Fuck--_

Sam hardly managed to swallow a groan and surged forward but Nick shoved him back even harder, so hard Sam's diploma rattled against the wall and he felt his breath go out of him again.

"Don't you?" He repeated. He was closer now, close enough for Sam to feel the heat of his breath on his neck.

Sam slammed his eyes shut and nodded furiously.

Nick's hand slid down his chest, slowly - stupidlypainfully _wretchedly_ slowly.

His open lips were against Sam throat now, voice so low and so damn close--

"Tell me you want me to." Sam felt him smile around the words.

Sam swallowed hard, "Yes--"

One finger caught against his belt, “’Yes’ what?"

"Yes, I want you to," Sam gasped, "I want any of it - all of it - and you, just you."

Nick let out one shaky curse and then his mouth was open on Sam's throat and his hand was shoving down over the heat of Sam's erection tight and throbbing through the weight of his jeans.

Sam's head craned back against a sound that he didn't think he was capable of making, something half groaned, half sobbed, mostly cried, and lost and found all at once. Nick's breath faltered at it, hand driving even tighter against him, teeth catching against the soft line of Sam's neck hard enough to mark.

But Sam's hands were moving now, shoving at Nick's jacket, tugging it off of his shoulders. Nick grunted impatiently in the space behind Sam's ear but finally pulled his hands away from him long enough to push his arms back and let Sam get the thing off of him, and when his hands came back they went straight for Sam's belt. He tugged it once, thumbing open the button and scrambling down his fly and Sam hardly had time to take the breath he knew it was going to need and lock one hand in Nick's hair before he felt his strong hand close tight and firm around his cock.

Sam's eyes flew open all at once as he gasped out something that was half words half nothing even close.

Nick eased his hand down Sam's length, slow, so damn slow, _too_ damn slow, as Sam tried to bite back the sound struggling out of his chest that he knew was going to break free sooner or later, because god it felt so good, so _right_ , as if whatever he did, whatever it was, Nick was ready to catch him.

Nick's fingertips were sliding up the line of his neck, over his jaw into his hair, deep and then hard, gripping tight enough to hurt.

"I saw you, you know-" His voice was low and calm but there was something under that, something ragged and almost shaken that Sam felt pool deep in his stomach.

Sam tried to swallow though it, "Saw what?"

Nick laughed against his neck, "You know what. The doors are glass Sam, fogged or not, you really should take more care."

Sam felt himself twitch helplessly against the impossible warmth of Nick's tight, teasing fingers.

"Do have any idea how hard that was?" Nick said, voice slipping through his teeth, grip tightening, "To hear you, know you were so close, like this--"

He snapped his wrist down all at once and the sound it shot out of Sam was obscene.

"Do you know how hard it was, to sit there, like I didn't know?" Nick rasped, "How hard it was not to throw that door aside, and do this?"

He dragged his hand all the way up and opened his mouth on Sam's neck, tongue and teeth and all him - starved and greedy and clever.

"I wanted you to-" Sam's words fell out helpless and thoughtless, “ _God_ , I wanted you to--"

Nick's hand stuttered at that and then he was kissing his mouth, messy and fast, and nothing like the slow careful exploration he'd pushed through in the cab. This was all fire and something else as well, something warm and deep and desperate, as if he was trying to push something more than flesh into him and Sam opened for it, drank it in, easy at first, and then firmer, pushing back as he forgot everything but the feel of Nick's pace against him, his own hips moving forward with shallow shaky thrusts, small sounds finding their way out of him and landing quiet and messy against Nick's lips, his neck, into his hair that smelled like cold mornings and old books.

Sam was falling towards the edge fast, each possessive snatch of Nick's teeth on his skin, each long pull had him blinking harder, trying to catch to something because he wanted it - god, he wanted it - but he wanted so much more from him - he wanted to feel the weight of his skin over him, watch his muscles move and shift under his hands, hear him gasp out shocked and lost, and know it was all his.

Sam made a grab for his belt, but Nick dodged it, catching Sam's wrist all too easily and holding it tight over his head, and yeah, okay, that did not help at all, and it took too damn much to bite back the swelling tightness that was begging him to just lean back and give in.

"It's alright," Nick muttered against him, and god his voice sounded so dry it was barely recognizable, knuckles tightening hard against Sam's wrist in a way that made his breath catch hard.

"I can't--" Sam managed to gasp out, because he couldn't hold on and this was all going to be over well before he wanted it to be and he needed so much _more_.

"We have time," Nick soothed with jagged breaths, even as his fingers twisted at Sam's wrist, "I want to see you like this, I want to see you every way I've imagined you--"

The words went right though him, searing hot and perfect and _jesuschrist_ that was it. Sam let himself fall, groans gone deep, pulsing and breathless and shaky, hips snapping up to meet him with each pump of his wrist, and god the way he was watching him, whispering things against him, comforting things, pleading things, urging him on and Sam crashed.

Release spun through him, white and breathless and stuttering and he shook against the wall but Nick held him tight all the while, easing him out, dragging him on, until he felt like he might actually loose the world completely.

A deep breath poured into him just before things went too dizzy and the world slipped back into focus.

He knew his hair was in his face and he could not possibly care less. He still had his jacket on and felt his shirt sticking to him just a bit.

Nick let go of his wrist gently and let Sam’s arm fall limp back to his side. He clicked his tongue roughly with a low laugh, "Such a mess, Sammy," He grinned, "What are we going to do with you?"

Sam lolled his head back to look him in the face and tell him to shut the fuck up but what he saw him pulled out a whimper instead.

Nick was running his tongue up the full length of his thumb, cleaning up anything Sam had left behind.

Sam swore thick and messy, his cock giving a thoroughly painful throb as Nick's index finger dove into his mouth and then Sam's hand was on his hip, tugging him close and sharp so his legs were around one of his and he could feel that hard hot length of him against his thigh. Nick hummed approvingly around his finger and ground his hips in harder with a little shudder, that made his lips slip open just a bit.

Sam was staring at him probably harder than he had even stared at anything in his entire life. He lifted his hand and ran the back of his knuckles over the stubble of his cheek, watching as his lips loosened around his fingers, wet and hot, eyes blow out, just a thin line of pale blue around them, short blonde hair shoved around and abused.

And then Sam was catching his wrist, tugging his hand away and running his own fingers over his lips, letting his own thumb slip in and graze his teeth and god that wasn't a good idea and he hurt at the new thrills of arousal begging him towards the inevitable but he didn't care. He tugged him forward and kissed the bitterness off of his tongue possessively, shoved his knee up against the heat of his cock, caught his hands in his hair, over the taunt back of his dress shirt, up the back of his strong neck. The kiss went sloppy fast, and then hard, and then painful. Nick made a rough growling noise and jerked his hips hard against Sam's leg and Sam tugged back from the the kiss with a soft wet sound.

"What do you want?" The words came out more demanding than Sam meant.

Nick slipped his still messy hand behind Sam, snatching at his ass and tugging him closer, "You know what I want."

And god, Sam's whole body was still thrumming, aching, but wanting in a way he couldn't possibly still want, in a way he'd never wanted, and didn't understand, and wasn't going to try to.

His lips couldn't seem to help curling around a smile, "Then what's taking you so long?"

Nick made a sound lost between a whine and a grunt and a moment later they were off the wall, stumbling backwards. His hands were scrambling now, their easy grace thrown aside for something feral as he drove them under Sam's coat, shoving it off his shoulders while Sam toed out of his boots and nipped at his neck, snatching the knot of his tie and tugging it loose enough to lap against his collarbone, burying dark marks there he suddenly knew he needed to see, to own.

He reached for Nick's belt but Nick's arms blocked him as they caught Sam's shirt, tugging it over his head in one clumsy movement that turned Sam's hair into even more of a mess. He felt the cool air of the apartment over the bareness of his torso for hardly a second before Nick's hands were there, grasping to the weight of muscle around his hips and spinning him tightly to send him falling backwards onto his bed.

Sam scrambled to sit up as Nick fell down on top of him, kicking his shiny shoes off behind him where they hit the wood floor with two dull thumps.

He traced over Sam's chest with something reverent enough to be prayer and hungry enough to be pagan, strong fingers digging up over the ridges of his ribs, lips ghosting over each surface. Sam's eyes fluttered shut under the sensation, forgetting everything else for a moment except the aching pulse of his cock struggling against the stiffening temptation.

And then Nick was sitting up on his knees, looking down at him as if he meant to memorize every inch, and Sam couldn't help but admire the view as well, Nick sitting there over him, stare starved, shoulders broad under the pull of his skewed shirt, tie tugged messy, cock straining against the fine wool of his suit pants as his hands snapped his belt open cleanly and then Sam couldn't just watch anymore.

He surged upwards, one hand catching at the buttons of his dress shirt and wrenching at it until it fell open, the sound of one or two buttons clattering to the wooden floor echoing. Nick shrugged out of it sloppily, as if he needed to move too quickly to do anything even close to neat. He had nothing on underneath, just like that time Sam had seen him dressing in his office, only now he could actually slide his hands up the weight of his hips and feel the solid muscle underneath and it shocked him how right that felt, the warmth lighting up in his chest that reminded him just how badly he'd wanted this.

But it didn't last long. Nick slipped back off the bed, snatched the edge of Sam's jeans and tugged them free boxers and all, pushing Sam back as his own pants followed Sam's onto the floor and then he was back on top of him and there was nothing but skin and warmth that felt beyond right.

The hot length of Nick's cock pressed into the crease of his thigh and Sam's hand fumbled out towards his nightstand, scrambling for the top drawer. Nick had the better angle and followed his lead, he searched for a minute blindly and then pulled out what Sam'd been looking for.

Nick's laughter was rough over him as he snapped the top off of the lube and eyed Sam deviantly, "Well supplied - were you preparing for something?"

"Shut up," Sam growled and just to make sure he did he caught the back of his neck and tugged him down into a hard kiss, a kiss he lost to a gasp as he felt a finger circle him once and then slide in tight and fast.

"Fuck--" Sam groaned and Nick seemed to take that as permission because well _well_ before he was ready, another finger joined the first and Sam just managed to grit his teeth against the feel before the fingers hooked and dove and--

Sam cried out, loud and broken as his hips suddenly forgot the pain and bucked back hard. Nick growled and sat up, angling his arm stupidly, impossibly better and driving into him again.

Sam _moaned_ long and wet, and the dull throbbing pulse of need told him well enough he was hard again already.

"You have no idea what you look like right now," Nick's voice was little more than a groan itself but Sam was too far gone to even hear it. He felt a hand slip up his neck and into his hair. It snatched tight, pulled him back, and a third finger joined the other two.

Sam did not, _definitely_ did not, scream.

There was one shove and then another and then the fingers were gone and Sam heard himself let out a sharp whine at the loss, but then he felt Nick shifting. There was the sound of a condom wrapper being torn at, and Sam let his legs fall open thoughtlessly in a way he knew he should probably (no - definitely) be ashamed of, but he was so far past that point that he was even thrusting his hips forward with sharp little begging movements, and snatching his hands out to lock on whatever part of Nick they found first, pulling, urging.

Nick was breathing hard enough to hear now. Sam opened his eyes to see, and god if he hadn't been hard before--

There was no denying anymore that he'd imagined this, him here, sliding between his legs, watching him with that sharp blue stare like he needed nothing else in the world - he'd imagined it, dreamed about it, been terrified by it and desperate for it all at once, but he'd never expected this. He'd expected the firm demanding strength of him, the clever sharp movements fast and slow and teasing, but he hand't even come close to expecting the way Nick's hands almost trembled as they gripped tight to Sam's hips, the way his throat bobbed with a thick swallow as he lined himself up, and the utterly lost noise he made when he finally _finally_ pressed inside of him.

After that Sam couldn't really notice much of anything.

His head fell back and he inhaled, sharp and hard, closing his eyes tight as he felt Nick's grip on his hip become that much more sure, as he pushed deeper and deeper and then he gasped out a curse and Sam knew he couldn't go any further.

He stayed still for a moment, both of their breaths rough and jumbled in the dull light of the room, mixing with the sound of traffic outside. Nick was bent over him now, his head low enough that his forehead could rest on Sam's.

Sam swallowed and ran a hand down the length of his back, deep and firm. He could feel Nick's breathing stuttering against his lips, trying to keep control.

Sam let his hand keep moving down, over the crease of his spine, down to the ridge of his tail bone and finally over the curve of his ass. Sam took a deep shaky breath and then gripped hard as he urged his hips forward just that much more.

The sound Nick made shot right through him and before he could even start to prepare for it, Nick was sliding back and snapping forward hard. Sam cried out sharp and wet and words fell out of him that must have been encouragement because Nick did it again. And again.

“ _Jesus_ — Nick,” Sam gasped.

A hand ran up and locked in his hair.

"My real name Sam--" The words were broken and jagged and Sam didn't even pause before it fell out of him.

"Lucifer--" And it should have felt weird, strange and alien, but it didn't. It felt so perfect over his tongue that he suddenly had no idea why he'd been saying anything else, but that wasn't right was it? It felt perfect here, in this moment, with him like this, as if it was some secret between them, some intimate thing that only Sam was allowed to own.

The sound he made as Sam let it drip over his tongue was unlike anything else and his pace shifted to something impossible-

And _jesuschrist_ he was going to come, again, _again_ , and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do to stop it. All of Nick's low breathy words were gone now and there was nothing but the hard breaths and the grind of his teeth and the grip of his hands and the snap of his hips driving them so impossibly close over and over and over.

And then Sam was groaning, gasping, begging, words falling out of him in messy piles of: _"Now, now nownow,"_

Nick's voice caught a cry in his throat and he slammed his hips forward with impossible depth, angle crashing right into Sam full force and Sam was lost, heat spilling out between them in pulses, sticking them together as Nick dropped to his elbows and gasped out, thrusting through his own release, body going tight and tense under Sam's hands as he cried out something broken that Sam realized later might have been his name.

And then all at once the lazy grace poured back into his body. His muscles relaxed into something soft and warm and he fell down onto Sam heavily.

When Sam managed to think properly again his hand was stroking through Nick's hair, and there was warm breath on his neck. Sam tightened his hand a little and Nick made a soft contented noise and burrowed deeper into the crook of his shoulder.

Sam smiled, "Has anyone ever told you you're a pretty gigantic tease?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're actually pretty easy? I didn't even have to buy you dinner--"

Sam smacked the back of his head playfully and Nick's low laughter sounded against his neck, still wrecked with exhaustion.

"Watch it," Sam grinned,"I'll kick you out,"

"No," Nick smiled and openly kissed under his jaw, "You won't."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit and DONE! Big ol' thanks to Clara for beta reading this last part! I'm going to put extended author's notes at the end, check out the stuff:
> 
> Soundtrack: [HERE](http://8tracks.com/fortinbrasftw/due-cause)  
> Graphic: [HERE](http://fortinbrasftw.tumblr.com/post/47079305930/d-u-e-c-a-u-s-e-a-supernatural-lawyer-au-read)

Sam had never known there could be such a thing as an aggressive cuddler before that morning. 

He’d hardly even managed to wake up properly. The sun that leaked onto the floor boards of his room wasn’t quite at the bed so it couldn’t be past eight. The first thought that slunk drowsily across his brain was something along the lines of: “get up or you’ll be late—” and then Nick’s arm tightened around his waist and he realized that was a pretty useless plan.

Sam almost laughed when he realized just how truly enveloped he was. Nick had slunk one leg between his and wrapped the other one on top, knotting around under his knee and holding him tight. His whole body was pressed so tight against Sam’s he could feel his steady heartbeat through his back. The arm thrown around his waist held him tight and close while his other arm rested on the pillows above his head, the edges of his fingers knitted firmly in his hair. Sam could feel his nose against the crook of his neck, stubble on the edge of his square jaw.

With a sigh, he moved to turn over, but Nick’s limbs just tightened and he let out a little frustrated groan.

“Hey,” Sam muttered, voice still raw with sleep.

“Shh,” Nick answered - well, grumbled.

Sam realized it was probably the moment when panic rightly should have set in, the freakishly possessive tightening of limbs, pulling him even closer as if daring him to try and leave without permission. But it didn’t. No frantic realization, just a floating warm calm. 

It was strange. Sam’d never really been the right size to be snatched to with any real possibility of holding him there. It felt weirdly comforting, and not at all as terrifying as it should have been. And when he should have been shoving him aside and getting up and trying to think of how the hell he was going to explain this to Dean, he was instead sinking deeper into the warmth of the blankets and edging his body even further back into the heat of him.

Nick hummed appreciatively and nuzzled against the back of his neck, the hand in his hair sinking in to run through it.

“Are you petting me?” Sam smiled into the pillows.

Nick’s voice was a murmur against his skin, “You deserve it.”

“We’re going to be late…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Is that right?”

Nick’s hand dove deeper under the curve of his stomach and it was really stupid how damn comfortable he was. He just fit. Perfectly. And Sam had already started to realized that he felt so right that anything else, anyone else, or nothing at all, would just feel wrong by contrast. He wondered how he’d gone his whole life without missing this, because the thought of him leaving now just seemed so… empty. 

And god, he must still be half asleep, because those really weren’t the thoughts of a reasonable person.

“What are you thinking about?” the grumbly voice sounded behind him, nose finding it’s way into the bottom of his hair now.

_Can you miss something without having known it?_

“You’re warm.” he said instead.

Nick huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “You’re too talkative in the morning.”

“And you’re too far on my side of the bed to be complaining.”

“Does that mean I have a side?” Nick asked after a moment's pause.

Sam smiled and snuggled back deeper into the curve of the weight of him. “Look who’s the talkative one.”

He felt him smile against the skin at the base of his neck. “Do you want to get up?”

Sam groaned and stretched out his legs, taking way too much pleasure in the way Nick’s moved to make sure they stayed in line with his.

“No,” he sighed.

“Then go back to sleep,” Nick said in a voice that was a good deal too floating to be any kind of demanding. But Sam complied anyways.

——

Dean woke up to the smell of bacon. Which was ten kinds of awesome.

He let one arm flop out towards the other side of the bed and frowned when it hit the mattress instead of the lithe warm body with scratchy cheeks he expected to find. He was disappointed until the fact that Cas was up and the kitchen smelled like bacon clicked and his face split into a stupid grin, which was sort of happening a lot lately.

He groaned and stretched hard, feet kicking down the mattress and knocking the duvet onto the floor. Cas’ side still felt pretty warm, he must have gotten up not too long ago. Dean rolled over onto his stomach to get a better look at the little red numbers on the alarm clock on the bedside table. It wasn’t that late, certainly not any unacceptable time to be getting up after wandering around the city until it was almost morning.

He hadn’t meant for the night to go like that. Actually, when they’d left for dinner all he’d really been able to think about was how quickly he could convince Cas to turn around and go right back upstairs. But they’d gotten dinner after all, and then on the way home they’d been showing _Barbarella_ in some old theatre, which turned into a double feature with _In Like Flint_ , and then the park had just looked right, and then the idea of three AM ice-cream was too good to pass up, and then there was nothing left but them, and streets, and words, and really the rest of the night had been set dressing.

He still couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to him, how the hours melted away into nothing but the light in his eyes and the way he listened, _really_ fucking listened. 

It had been too easy to spend the wee hours with that, and even easier to stumble up the steps at 5am and crash into bed, pretty much forgetting about everything else but knotting an arm under his back and tugging him over onto his chest and into sleep.

He was just realizing, as he stretched and remembered what it was like to be aware of the universe, that his initial plans for the evening had gotten rather misplaced. Which, was probably a good thing considering the size of the apartment. But was Sam even there?

There was a chance Sam was still at the office. He'd gone back the day before, and it wasn’t totally abnormal for him to spend the night there, especially after having been away for a criminal two day respite. But no, the door had been unlocked. He hadn’t really noticed that as much as he probably should have, but Sam sometimes forgot to lock it when he got home late, and since none of their shit was gone and he didn’t get a baseball bat to the face it was probably safe to assume his brother had come home last night after all.

Dean groaned and made himself sit up. He smiled despite himself at the sight of Cas’ jeans tossed over on the floor while his shoes were neatly pushed against the wall and his stupid old jacket hung on the back of the door.

Another smell joined the bacon that could easily have been pancakes and Dean was on his feet in a few seconds. He debated grabbing a shirt for half a second and then realized just how stupid that would be. Plus, pancakes really shouldn’t be forced to wait for anyone’s modesty.

He pushed open his bedroom door and stumbled towards the kitchen, rubbing and hand over his eyes to try and wake them up along with his other senses.

“Cas?” he grumbled as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Umm…” the rough voice answered as Dean’s hand caught around the wall turned and—

“Morning, sunshine.”

Once, when he was sixteen, Sam had thrown a bucket of water on him to wake him up after he’d gone on a bender locked in the garage. He’d been pretty well convinced there couldn’t possibly be a worse way to go from sleepy to right the fuck awake, but a lot of preconceptions can get chucked right out the window by finding a blond smirking masochist standing in your kitchen wearing your brother’s old flannel shirt and a grin that could be dictionary diagrammed as “shit eating”. And the fact that he was holding a spatula and had a frankly vicious looking love bite on his upper part of his neck threw the situation right into the realm of immediately nauseating.

“Mother fuck--” Dean managed, grabbing the wall and feeling all the blood go out of his face at once.

“Dean,” Cas said with concern, emerging from behind the intruder in his t-shirt and boxers with that stupid worried look on his face.

But sickness was free falling into rage and Dean was upright again soon enough.

“What the fuck!?” He yelled.

“Dean—” Cas tried again.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?!”

“Breakfast.” Nick smiled innocently and the effect was so damn irritating it took all Dean had not to swing at him right then and there.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean scrambled, “What the fuck are you wearing? WHERE THE HELL IS SAM?!”

“He’s a little tuckered out, poor thing, so if you could keep your voice down—“

Dean was going for his smug face before the thought even completed, but Cas slid easily between them and walked Dean back a few steps out of the kitchen.

“Calm down,” Cas said firmly.

“I made you peace pancakes,” Nick grinned, holding out the plate as proof.

“I DON’T WANT ANY FUCKING PEACE PANCAKES!”

Even if they did smell more like fucking _amazing_ pancakes.

“Really? I even put bacon in the pancakes,” Nick said with a look of intense sincerity, “ _In the pancakes_ , Dean.”

“Fuck off!”

But jesus christ, _bacon_ pancakes… maybe if he hit him now he could get away with snagging a few and retreating to the bathroom to scarf them down before anyone noticed.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Everyone turned at once.

Sam stood in the doorway of his room. It seemed to take him about five seconds to really take in the scene and about half a second more before the implications registered and his face turned the color of kool aid. 

“Sammy…” Dean growled, “What the fuck is _that_ doing in the kitchen?”

“Makin’ bacon pancakes.” Nick muttered.

“Shut up!” Sam and Dean said at once.

Nick tossed up his arms helplessly and leaned back against the fridge.

“If the explanation for this isn’t: ‘he drugged me’ or ‘we were assaulted by loose troop of monkeys that really wanted our clothes and had an aggressive fondness for hickeys’ I swear to god Sammy—“

“Hey!” Sam snapped suddenly, “Since when is it your business what I do with my time?”

“It’s my business when I find fucking Norman Bates in the kitchen!”

“Really more of a Rhett Butler if we’re doing classic film analogies—“ Nick chimed in innocently.

“Yeah, well _I_ don’t give a damn!” Dean shot.

“Oo, nicely done.”

“Stop it!” Cas yelled.

And they did. All of them.

“That’s enough.” Cas continued, his big blue eyes pumped full of something almost scary.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Nick looked down at his feet. Dean tried to swallow the rage long enough to not snap in Cas’ face.

“Now,” Cas said calmly but seriously, “Dean- your brother and Nick have formed a bond—“

Dean and Sam made a groaning noise at the same time.

“ _Have formed a bond_ ,” Cas repeated, forging ahead with a tone that dared any of them to interrupt, “And while you may not find it immediately appealing, you should recognize that Nick cares for your brother in an entirely unmalicious manner that I must note is quite extraordinary for his character and deserves appreciation.”

Sam was blushing again and apparently his feet had gotten about ten times more interesting.

“Nick,” Cas said turning towards him, “If you truly wish to make Sam happy, resisting from antagonizing his sibling is likely a good place to start.”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do with siblings but antagonize them.”

“All the same.”

He sighed, “Fine, fine.”

“Good.” Cas said firmly, “Now… we are going to take the ‘bacon pancakes’, and the other breakfast foods, and we are going to sit at the table and consume the meal in a civilized manner. Is that understood?”

No one said anything. Dean shuffled his feet on the floor.

“Is it understood?” Cas repeated sternly.

“Yes!” Dean snapped, mostly because Cas’ ‘judging you’ eyes needed to stop it, “But can he at least but some pants on?”

“No one else has pants on…” Nick observed sullenly.

Cas gave him a look. The room waited in silence for judgement.

“Everyone will put pants on.” Cas said finally.

Nick groaned against the fridge. 

“Fine.” Dean growled and turned back towards his room with angry steps, trying to convince the rage to shut the hell up. But he couldn’t help noticing the sound of Sam trying to swallow his laugher behind him.

— — — 

Pants most definitely on, Sam made his way back into the kitchen. Dean had made it back out before him and was glaring at Nick while Cas spoke to him in a soft voice, no doubt trying to convince him not to flip a table over or storm out, or rage consume ten pancakes in one sitting.

Nick was setting the table, which looked more hilarious than it should have, but he just didn’t seem like the type of person to set tables. He glanced up as Sam entered and smiled at him, wide and open. Sam couldn’t help smiling back.

Dean made a thoroughly miserable sound and Cas hushed him.

The massive stack of pancakes steamed on the table and Sam moved to sit down.

“Wait—“ Nick said, tuning and pulling something off the counter.

It was a separate plate.

“What’s…?”

“I thought you’d prefer something lighter,” Nick said calmly, “It’s eggs benedict with spinach and portobello.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dean scoffed from behind them.

Cas gave him a light push towards the table and he sat down with a grumble, forking over three pancakes at once.

Sam was still staring at the plate, “Did you make hollandaise?”

“Yes, of course. Not good?"

“No, good. Very good.” Sam grinned, taking the plate, “Thank you.”

Nick let his hand slip over the small of his back for just a moment and then followed him to the table where Dean was forking over a hearty helping, apparently trying to drown his misery in syrup and enough carbs to take down a rhino while Cas daintily forked up bits of flaky pancake with a small smile.

“Shouldn’t you guys be at work or something?” Sam asked as he sat down.

“I asked Cas to hold off today,” Nick said.

Dean’s gaze snapped up, “Is that right?”

“Although, I still don’t understand why—“ Cas started.

“There’s a small cafe in the new building, if you’re interested.” Nick said as he took a bite of his food.

Everyone turned towards him.

Cas's eyes widened. "…Pardon?"

“The building, for the new firm. There’s a cafe on the first floor. You can have it if you want.”

“I— I don’t…”

“Well, both of you can, I suppose.” Nick added.

“Wait, wait,” Sam said suddenly, “You’re just going to give them a cafe?”

“No, not give, obviously they will have to make a reasonable rent, possibly towards an ultimate purchase. I wouldn’t have bought the building if I didn’t think I could turn a profit on it.”

“…You bought a building.” Dean stared.

“It’s an investment. Although if you’re not interested in the opportunity I’ll have to seek out some equally enterprising baristas so—”

“Why would you do this?” Cas asked, gazing at him in awe.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nick said, taking another bite of his food, “I have a cafe, I happen to know two individuals who could turn it into a successful business. It’s perfect.”

He swallowed his mouthful and leaned on his elbow to look at Cas.

“And I suppose I feel one of those individuals deserved a notable settlement after the termination of his previous employment, a settlement which was never made or considered and I feel as if I am in a position to provide such compensation… at least emotionally.”

Cas held his gaze for a moment or two and then looked at Dean, “What do you think?”

Dean scoffed, “Shit if I know.”

“Truly,” Cas asked seriously.

Dean looked to him and then to Nick, “I don’t want any favors from you, hear me? Don’t need them,”

“I am well aware. And starting a business is hardly a favor. There would be significant effort involved for both of you.”

Dean eyed him for a moment longer.

“Come on Cas,” He said, “I want to talk to you for a minute,”

He pushed out his chair and stood.

“Dean—“ Sam started.

“Don’t worry your pretty head Sammy,” Dean smiled, “Just for a minute.”

Cas stood after him, still glancing back at Nick as he followed Dean quietly into his room and shut the door behind them.

Nick took another bite of his pancakes.

Sam started laughing.

“What?” Nick asked, looking at him sideways with a small smile.

“You, and your schemes.” Sam said.

“I didn’t forget about you,” He said reaching under the table and dropping a stack of files into the middle of the table.

“What’s that?”

Nick leaned back from his plate and took them back off the table, leafing through.

“Perkins versus Burgundy Incorporated - sexual discrimination law suit against the corporation with a list of previous grievances and a pattern of abusive behavior reaching back sixteen years. They’ve offered a settlement of forty million. I would recommend taking it to court. You can get triple.”

He dropped the file back on the table.

“Patek v. Richards Mining - Mr. Patek has lost both his sons to a raid on a mining facility in eastern India, Stevenson Mining is accused of orchestrating the raid as a means to squelch a unionizing effort Mr. Patek was involved with.”

The file joined the other on the table.

“Lloyd versus Harvard University and the State of Massachusetts - Miss Lloyd was sharing her online course work with several individuals living in South Boston who’s standardized test results did not provide them with a position in such a prestigious university. That one I think is particularly interesting and would like to second chair if you’d be amenable.” 

Sam was still staring at the stack of files. He couldn’t quite manage to say anything.

“And Mr. Shawn, seventeen, accused of raping and murdering a sixteen year old white girl named Madison James. I’m sure if you look at the files you’ll draw the same conclusions I did, which is that he is entirely innocent despite some strong evidence otherwise. I would recommend using Crowley as a second on this one since—”

Sam kissed him.

Nick’s smile twitched as he kissed him back, lips soft and present.

Sam let him go again, “Why’d you do all this?”

“I’d say it’s ninety percent because you’re a good lawyer, and these are strong cases, and doing well with them will put the firm in a secure position.”

With an air of casual ease, Nick stole a swipe of hollandaise with his index finger and popped it into his mouth.

“As for the other ten percent,” He continued casually, leaning on his elbow, “That’s likely related to the fact that I’m falling in love with you.”

Sam stopped, “What did you say?”

Nick turned and looked at him, his stare was still sleepy and bright blue in the clear morning light, “I said I’m falling love with you… well, perhaps 'stumbling' is a better verb choice.”

Sam couldn’t seem to stop staring at his face.

“But there’s really no need to look like that,” Nick said with a shrug, “I’m only saying so because you let it slip last night during the third time—”

“Did I?” Sam asked, surprised at how calm he sounded.

“No,” Nick grinned.

Sam shook his head with a little laugh.

“But…” Nick continued carefully, “Would you be surprised if you had?”

Sam looked back at him, “Maybe.”

His hand slipped into Nick's tousled blond hair without really intending to. “But... maybe not too surprised.”

They’d gotten closer somehow, leant almost so their foreheads were touching. Sam fell his smile against his cheek.

“Look who’s the tease now,”

“It’s what you get,” Sam grinned, “For calling me easy,”

He kissed him, and took his time with it, even if it was hard when he couldn’t stop smiling.

The door opened behind them and Nick fell away even as Sam sighed out his disappointment.

“Alright,” Dean snapped, apparently deciding an announcement was necessary.

Sam turned to look at them, flopping one arm over the back of his chair.

Cas was smiling.

“We’ll take it.” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest definitively.

“You sure?” Sam said, “It’s a big decision.”

“Yeah, well that cart was starting to chafe up my lovely girlish hands.”

Nick was still looking at Cas.

“Thank you,” Cas said.

“Don’t thank me yet, I could prove to be a malicious landlord.”

Dean laughed for the first time that morning, “Yeah no shit.”

Nick grinned back and turned to Sam, “Eat up, Sammy, it’s time to go start trouble.”

———

It was past noon by the time they got in to the office, but no one seemed to notice.

The entire place was distracted, people were huddled together, talking close and quick around desktops and in door ways. 

Sam saw Balthazar and Anna gathered down one hall. Anna met his gaze for a moment with worry written on her face and quickly turned back to her group, listening intently to what was being said.

“Something’s happened,” Sam said.

“Doubtless.” Nick answered, turning the corner towards their offices.

The were blocked by a small, furious-looking woman.

“He wants to see you,” she said. Sam recognized her now as Michael’s secretary.

“Is that right?” Nick asked.

She said nothing, merely continued to glare up at them.

“Well, we have just gotten in—“ Nick began.

“He would very much like to speak with you _now_ ,” she pressed.

Nick shrugged, “I suppose if it can’t wait...”

She turned to lead them and he winked at Sam with a grin as they moved to follow.

The building as a whole seemed to notice them now with a distinct interest. Everyone they passed fell silent and turned to watch them with nervous eyes. Sam was actually starting to feel cagey under the scrutiny by the time they reached Michael’s office door.

The woman stopped.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Nick asked her.

She glanced at the door as if he was asking her to enter the gates of hell and shook her head firmly, retreating to the relative safety of her desk.

“Hm,” Nick shrugged, and then turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Sam stared, “Holy shit.”

Nick let out a low whistle.

The office was a wreck.

Half of the odds and ends were on the floor, the coffee table was tipped over. The cold leather couch had been shoved around with apparent ferocity. Some of the paintings hung askew on the wall, one or two had actually fallen. There was a black tie tossed around one of the lamps and a shoe sticking out of a vase across the room. 

Someone cleared their throat.

Sam and Nick pulled their eyes away from the chaos to see Michael sitting straight-backed and stern behind his utterly demolished desktop.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said sharply, gesturing to the two seats in front of the desk that seemed to have escaped the apparent tornado unscathed.

“What happened here?” Nick asked calmly, sitting down, Sam plopping down after him.

“Gabriel was let go this morning, his partnership agreement terminated,” Michael said, carefully avoiding touching his desk.

“News to me,” Nick said looking around the office, “May I asked why?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed but he continued, “He and certain opposing council were discovered in a compromising position… a loud and arguably criminal position.”

Sam coughed loudly to hide the laugh building in his throat.

“I see. And your office…”

“Was the site of these transgressions.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed.”

Michael tapped his pen twice against the desk.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Nick?”

Sam could feel his stillness beside him.

He braced himself for something, anything: the desk getting kicked over, Nick shooting to his feet and swinging towards Michael’s quiet expression. He saw Michael’s eyes tighten, holding still, silent as if he were waiting as well.

But instead Nick leaned back in his seat and spoke.

“Do you remember that time,” he said, “We couldn’t have been more than eight or ten, it was one of the first times Gabriel and Castiel stayed with us in Tuscany, it was the end of the summer—“

“The boat.” Michael said, hurriedly averting his eyes towards his desk.

Nick smiled, “Gabriel convinced Cas to take it out with him, flipped it. We got them both out—”

“Barely,” Michael corrected.

“Still, we got them out, and they were miserable and terrified, and father was furious when he found out it had sunk.”

“And you said you’d done it.” Michael remembered cleanly.

“And then you said you had.”

Michael snorted as if he didn’t think much of this retelling but his eyes were still fixed on his own knees.

“I think we ended up all but tearing each other to pieces over it—“

“You were a biter.” Michael said seriously.

“You were taller.”

Michael shrugged, which was a strangely mechanical gesture on him.

“But he just watched us, watched us fight over who got to take the punishment while Cas and Gabe watched terrified at the back of the room, and in the end—“

“I know what happened in the end,” Michael snapped.

But Nick didn’t seem to hear him, “In the end he gave us both a clean slap, shut us up, and locked us in the back room for the rest of the night.”

Sam was trying his best to focus on his hands and pretend he wasn’t hearing any of this.

Michael adjusted himself stiffly, “Was there a point to that rambling?”

“I’m starting a new firm,” Nick said suddenly, “With Sam, and Gabriel.”

Michael glanced up at him in surprise.

“I never planned on coming back to stay.” Nick said, “You must have known that, Michael.”

Sam stared at him in surprise. He looked back at Michael, and for the first time since he’d met him he could see something in his face, something that furrowed his brow and made his eyes widen. 

“I’m leaving,” Nick said, holding Michael’s stare with a gentle voice, “And I’d like you to let me go, let us go, and move on from all of this.”

“And why would I do that?” Michael said finally.

“Because if you don’t,” Nick said, with a look that was almost sad, “If you don’t, we’ll never be alright again.”

Michael froze and then a small smile stole over his face, “Funny, I always thought of you as a realist.”

“I’m also a believer in choice.”

“And this is a choice?” Michael asked. His face seemed to sincerely search for an answer in Nick’s.

“It can be,” Nick said, “You know we can’t keep going like this, Michael, we were never good at close quarters. This was never really going to work.”

Once again, Michael paused, breaking eye contact to stare down at the pen in his fingers. “Maybe I wanted it to.”

Nick swallowed. “Well, even so…”

Michael leaned back, eyes hardening once more, “Why should I let you go? So you can compete with us, drag our father’s clients away and argue across courtrooms instead of offices.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Nick insisted, “There’s more than enough room. And yes, maybe sometimes we’ll clash, but this forced competition, this position we are in, it has to stop or else one day we’ll wake up and we won’t even be able to remember why we ever cared for each other.”

“Do you remember?” Michael asked curiously.

Nick smiled in that half cocked way, “I remember hating you that day, because you were so stupid, and stubborn, and brave.”

“Takes one to know one.” Michael said. Sam could have sworn he saw the twitch of a smile on his face.

Nick sighed, “Look what he’s done to us, Michael. We’re still locked in the back room biting, and kicking, and traumatizing the others while we try to do what’s best for them…”

Michael’s voice hardened, “We have a duty to him. To our father, to this place.”

“We don’t,” Nick said simply, “We just don’t.”

“I do.” Michael said sternly.

“Then do it,” Nick said, “But you know I can’t. And you have to let me go.”

“You’ve been planning this,” Michael said sharply, “Haven’t you? Ever since you came back - you’ve just been here for this. You lied to me, and you’ve swindled us, taken things apart to their most base and juvenile just as you always do.”

Sam felt Nick tense but his voice stayed calm, “I was wrong. I was angry. I should have told you what I’m telling you now months ago.”

Michael stared and then laughed short and bitter, “What the hell’s happened to you?”

“It’s been an enlightening several months.”

With a scoff, Michael glanced hard at Sam for the first time since he'd walked in.

“Is it him?” he asked with a condescending smile, slipping into cruel, “I never thought you’d be so naive.”

“It’s just been an interesting experience,” Nick said.

“What has?” Michael asked.

“Seeing a family that doesn’t try to destroy itself from the inside out.”

Michael stared at him, “Maybe that’s because it’s already in pieces.”

“What do you know about it?” Sam snapped without meaning to.

Nick put a hand on his knee.

“I know enough,” Michael said, “I know about your father and his drink and his little bastards—”

Sam stood up but Nick snatched his arm hard and held him there.

“What are you doing, Michael?” Nick asked firmly.

“Isn’t this what you came here for?” Michael asked, still calmly seated, “For one of your tantrums? I’m just trying to make it easier for you.”

“I told you, that’s not what I want.” Nick insisted.

“What do you think, Sam? Is that what you want?” Michael pressed.

Nick stood up beside him, hand loosening on his wrist and Sam felt it there and tried to keep his breathing steady.

“I’m not going to fight you any more.” Nick said calmly, “I’m tired… I’m so tired, Michael. Aren’t you.”

Michael said nothing, but his jaw tightened and he looked away.

Nick smiled gently, “We’re going. You can fight it if you want, but that will be that, and you should know, I bite much harder now.”

Michael looked up at him angrily.

“Or,” Nick shrugged, “You can let us go, and maybe we’ll call you for Thanksgiving.”

Michael held his gaze for a second longer and then looked down at his hands, fingers tight around the pen now still in his lap.

Nick let his fingers slip from Sam’s arm and turned towards the door. Sam followed him, and they left to the sound of silence.

The door clicked shut behind them. Nick walked calmly beside him and it seemed to Sam that there was a little light in his eyes that have never really been there before. 

“Are we seriously going to invite him to Thanksgiving?” Sam asked with a smile as they reached the elevator.

“Well, we have ten months or so to decide if he deserves it.”

The light flicked on as the elevator doors slid open.

“Are you sure you want to go? Don’t want to take one more look around?” Nick asked.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing it again,” Sam said, walking through the open elevator doors.

Nick followed him.

“Anyways, I can’t imagine it being half as interesting without you.” Sam finished.

Nick smiled, “Careful Sammy, flattery will get you everything.”

The doors slid shut in front of them.

Sam glanced over at him, “So… not so much with the kneecapping then?”

“What can I say?” Nick said with a shrug, “You’re a terrible influence.”

Sam had that stupid grin on his face again. It kept sneaking up on him and leaving him standing their looking like a looming goofy idiot, and the worst part was he didn’t care.

“You didn’t want to stay longer?” Sam asked suddenly, “Goodbyes or whatever?”

“There was one thing actually,” Nick said thoughtfully, “I was quite tempted to do it my first day back but, well, I suppose now will do.”

His hands drifted gracefully over towards the control panel and suddenly locked on the emergency stop, tugging it into place.

He looked back at Sam with that arrogant smirk.

“And I’m the terrible influence,” Sam scolded.

“The worst,” Nick grinned.

Nick’s hands had already found their way to his belt with a tug and Sam let himself fall forward with a motion that had become far too easy and far too familiar far too quickly, but when you knew someone was there to catch you, maybe things like that didn’t matter quite so much.

———

_Ten Months or so Later…_

The turkey was going to burn. He was absolutely, positively, convinced it was going to burn, and sprinting up the last two flights of stairs with ten case files and two laptops in his bag really, really wasn’t helping anything. Neither were the keys getting stuck in his pocket, but he finally tugged them free, snapped them home and shoved his way in, bracing for the smell of the burnt failure at domesticity.

“Late,” a chiding voice called from the kitchen and Sam felt the relief spill over him with a heavy sigh as the smell of perfectly cooked dinner floated up around him.

“I know, I know,” Sam groaned, slipping his messenger bag off his shoulder and dropping the keys into the jar by the door.

“Richardson?” The voice from the kitchen called back.

“Patek.” Sam answered, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it beside the others in the entrance way.

“Continuance?” The voice asked, as Sam turned around the corner into kitchen.

“Granted.” Sam smiled, slipping to one side to kiss his cheek before turning to glance at the food.

“Good.” Nick said calmly, eyes not leaving the stove as he adjusted a few of the burners.

“I though you were in court,” Sam pressed.

“I thought you weren’t.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam took the place in. The loft was open and wide as always, the sky lights spilling light down into the terraced room. Nick had actually managed to clean the papers and books off the coffee table for once, and the dining table facing the tall windows that looked towards the bay was all ready and waiting.

“You did all this?” Sam asked with a disbelieving grin, turning back to eye him suspiciously.

“I’m very domestic.” Nick said, scooping up a bit of cranberry sauce out of the saucepan to taste, “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“You didn’t just capture some Pottery Barn team, force them to do it, and have them locked them in the back room until I fall asleep or something?”

“Sam,” Nick tutted, “You know our back room wouldn’t fit a team.”

Sam shrugged, “Guess that’s true.”

“And I just put all the books on your side of the bed, so feel free to sort that out when you find a moment.”

“Lucky me.” 

Sam sidled back into the kitchen to inspect properly. The stove was covered with neat saucepans, one with gravy another with cranberry and sitting beside both of them was the turkey, golden and waiting. 

“Well?” Nick asked.

“Not bad,” And it wasn’t. It actually looked freaking amazing and smelled better. 

Sam looked up at him and started laughing, noticing for the first time the neat little white apron he’d tied around his waist to keep his work clothes tidy.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Sam asked, stepping closer to look properly.

“Borrowed it. Do you approve?”

“You look ridiculous.” He grinned as Nick slipped into the space in front of him and reached up for his tie.

“Are you going to change before they get here?” He asked, tugged at Sam’s tie just enough to lean him forward.

“I guess I could be persuaded along those lines,” Sam smiled, leaning forward to catch his lips.

The door knocked, firm and insistent.

“Hey! Let us in before my freaking arms fall off!” Dean roared from the other side.

“His timing is always perfect, isn’t it?” Nick grumbled against Sam.

“It’s like cock blocking is a sixth sense,” Sam sighed, sneaking out from under him to hurry towards the door.

He tugged it open and Dean shouldered past him instantly, holding a covered dish Sam was pretty sure was full of potatoes. Cas edged in behind him with a pie in each hand.

“Yeah, ‘hello’ to you too,” Sam called after Dean.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas smiled as Sam took the pies so Cas could get out of his coat.

“Hey, Cas,”

“Who the fuck are you, Betty Crocker?” Dean’s voice echoed out of the kitchen.

Sam sighed and hurried after them to try and mitigate damage but the door shoved open again behind him and he flattened himself against the wall to make room as Gabriel pushed past him.

“I still don’t see how the fucking world is ending?” Gabe shot behind him, taking the pies right out of Sam’s hands and heading for the rest of the apartment.

Crowley pushed through the door, glowering at the coat rack as he hung up his jacket neatly.

“I waited ten weeks for that fabric, another four for the tailoring, and shocking as it may seem, I did not plan on including chocolate sauce in the ensemble,” he snapped at Gabriel’s back.

Gabriel waved a bored hand in the air and collapsed on Sam and Nick’s couch with the pies, but Dean swept in instantly and took them back, putting them securely on the top of the refrigerator.

“There,” He said, “If you want pie you’ll have to grow some wings,”

Gabe moaned and sunk further into the couch, “Fucking heightist,”

“How’s it going?” Sam asked Cas as they followed the rest of them into the loft.

“Well,” Cas smiled.

“Fucking fantastic!” Dean countered, turning back towards them, “Except for the homeless gang that hangs out in the alley now because Cas gives them all the two day olds.”

“Seems like the right thing to do.” Sam shrugged.

“I don’t want hobo muffin thunderdome going on in my alleyway,” Nick scolded from the stove.

“You’d make a great Tina Turner,” Gabe tossed from the couch.

Crowley finally made his way into the living room, ignoring Gabriel’s floppy mopey state with easy practice and instead turned to Nick, narrowing his eyes as he noticed the apron.

“Is that mine?”

“Finders keepers.”

“Jesus christ,” Dean groaned, pulling a beer out of the fridge and cracking it open, “Oh, by the way Sammy, Mom called, she wants to know what we’re doing for Christmas.”

“She can stay here,” Nick offered.

“No.” Sam and Dean said at once.

“Why not?” Cas asked, sitting at one of the stools against the counter, “She enjoyed her last visit.”

“Once she met you,” Dean snapped, “And that’s cause everyone likes you.”

“Awwwwww,” Gabriel cooed from the couch.

Dean threw a pillow at him.

Crowley pulled a bottle of red wine out of his coat and handed it to Nick who examined it with a little smile and pulled down the decanter.

“So, are we eating or what?” Dean asked, eyeing the turkey.

“We’re still waiting on one.” Nick said.

Gabriel sat up on the couch, “You’re not fucking serious?”

Crowley groaned and leaned on the counter, “Shall I just get my things then?”

“No,” Sam insisted, “It’s going to be fine.”

“I agree, it was a strong gesture,” Castiel added.

“What makes you think he’s even going to show?” Gabriel asked, looking significantly less comfortable than he had a minute ago.

The door knocked once.

Dean stared, “Well... that’s ominous as fuck.”

“I’ll get it,” Sam said, glaring at him.

“No,” Nick insisted, moving past him and sliding a hand over his shoulder, “I will.”

He headed down the hall as everyone waited, staring after him.

“There’s a fire escape off the balcony, right?” Gabriel asked.

“Shh,” Sam scolded.

“Valid question,” Dean insisted.

Down the hall they heard the door open.

There was a moment of silence.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

And another one.

“Well, you’re welcome to enjoy the scenery out there, but we were hoping to starting eating sooner rather than later,”

Sam heard someone push their way through the door and walk into the apartment.

Michael entered, stopping at the doorway and evaluating them all with a look of mild concern and significant discomfort.

“Hey,” Sam smiled, shouldering past Dean’s stony defensive posture and reaching out a friendly hand.

Michael stared at it for a moment and then took it and shook it once.

“Yes, hello.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said, standing up all at once, “I vote we sit down and starting cramming meat into our faces before this gets any more uncomfortable.”

“Seconded.” Crowley said, turning towards the turkey and grabbing the nearest knife to carve, spinning it expertly around his finger once before diving in.

Michael moved closer to Castiel who smiled and stood to meet him.

Sam felt Nick step up behind him and he leaned back just enough to hit his shoulder. He turned to look at him. 

He was watching the scene pan out before them, Gabriel sauntering into the kitchen to lean against the counter where Castiel and Michael were still talking. Michael still seemed viciously uncomfortable but each word he said to his brother seemed to loosen him just a fraction more. Dean was standing beside Cas protectively, elbowing Gabriel as they both watched Crowley carve up the turkey and tried to snatch little bits of meat without getting noticed.

Sam felt Nick’s hand slip into his from behind as he rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” He said softly against his ear.

Sam leaned a little to look at him sideways, “What for?”

“For then, and now,” Nick smiled, “And all the things in-between.”

Sam turned to see him properly, the pale blue of his eyes bright from the light bouncing in around them off the bay. And he knew Dean was going to bitch and moan and Gabriel would probably whistle or worse, and Michael would become impossibly more awkward, but he smiled, and he kissed him anyways. 

He squeezed his hand once, “Come on,”

And together they joined the rest of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow so this was my first spn fic ever and I can't even say enough about how amazing everyone has been and what a great experience it was. I'm still totally overwhelmed with how many of you have been reading it and enjoying it, it's been beyond awesome.
> 
> I didn't really want to leave people hanging after such a long thing as this so I started two other series and the first parts are posted here now. Those won't be as long as this one was, but I should really try to avoid writing things this long because they end up getting sooo messy.
> 
> But yeah, check those out, and there's always the [Due Cause tumblr tag](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/due+cause) incase anything new comes up
> 
> So now for me to be nitpicky with myself...
> 
> I learned A LOT writing this, most importantly, don't go into a fic treating it like an episodic TV show because you'll end turning it back into a fic again half way through and that's awkward for everyone... 
> 
> I started this thinking of it like a legal tv series with episodes each week, and that is part of the reason the sections were so long, I stopped when it felt like it would have been around 40 minutes or so of air time. THAT WAS A BAD IDEA - it would be awesome if something like this could continue each week for years, but guess what? I sort of wanted the story to go places, and while I am a huge UST fan (as you can probably tell) around 60,000 words even I am like "...kiss?" so the reward overwhelms the format. In the end I guess the biggest conclusion is formats are there for a reason, fiction is great because it's a controlled length with a set arch that has destinations, and disregarding that aspect leads to issues, like lost characters who present friction and never appear again or are put on hold like they would be on a TV series (*cough* raphael *cough*). So yeah, I guess I can cool it on lessons learned, because a lot came out of it, and I'm excited to move onto new projects with new experience.
> 
> Thanks again so much everyone for all the love and for reading my story <3


End file.
